Down Here on Earth, there seems to be a line drawn in the sand about whether God/an Intelligent Mind/Intelligent Design is responsible for all of this; or whether simple, random evolution resulted in life and reality on this planet. Since I am speaking to the Intelligent Designer, we all know where I stand, but how about giving us a way to reconcile these two camps?

“Yes, I will try to be specific. My job is not to convince anyone of anything, and I am keenly interested in allowing them to evolve in whatever way they will; to whatever conclusion that they like best. And then, I will simply count up the numbers to see which side wins. It doesn’t matter to the reality of things, which theory is really responsible, but it makes an interesting test result.

Actually, these two positions are pretty much identical, except that they have two different starting points; and there have been so many new beginnings and so much evolving on this old, worn-out, planetary basketball, that there is much to say about the stages of growth between the original impulse and the present-day snapshot of where things are right now. It is all absolutely Evolutionary! That’s for sure!

But, it was definitely the work of Intelligent Design at the very beginning - more in the spirit of a scientific experiment, rather than a setting up of an ideal society, or an environment for human existence, such as some religious people imagine.

No, not at all. According to their plan, everything was perfect and then it fell through because of human failing and you have had to go through hell instead of paradise, expelled from the Garden of Eden. But, even that story is merely reflecting the scientific experiment’s many, many attempts at getting things right and an apparent expelling from an ideal, paradisiacal life, back to the edges of humanity’s existence. Then, crawling again, painfully, to a former glory. Again and again.

Neither one of those theories are correct but both contain most of the truth. However, people like to argue so much that they would find other things to wrangle about if this one was settled between them. Leave them alone to enjoy their dug-in positions and philosophy. It doesn’t hurt anybody but themselves.”

I thought that title would get you! This is the final installment of my story of the stuffed lynx and the taxidermied bust of an antelope, which occupied the retail store at the Snowmass Village, Colorado, ski mall, where I worked about six years ago. We three, manned that small space, day after day; though this particular slow day in question is the only time I made an effort to have a discussion with them.

Since I journal all interesting events in my life, I was writing it down as it occurred. I do recommend that you read the previous three posts for the whole story, as it will explain my fascination with the art of think-talking, which is just what it sounds like: forming your sentences in your head, but not enunciating them into the air with your mouth. It’s a little more deliberate than just “thinking,” but isn’t all that hard.

Okay, when I left off yesterday, I had taken the small lynx off of the shelf behind my head, and was having a fine conversation with him. We two had spoken of the antelope, which perpetually looks out of the front window. This day was very odd, in that it had witnessed two inquiries about purchasing these animals. Every other day, before and after, they just sat there like decorations, with no one showing any interest in buying them. The attention of these customers was surely what caused me look at them in a new light and come up with the idea of this very strange conversation. To continue my journal entry:

“2:45 p.m. - A broadly smiling, friendly man just popped in to price the antelope, so let’s interview it before it gets away.

Me - Hi Antelope! May I interview you from this desk while you continue to gaze out of the window?

Antelope - Yes, of course. This is our customary position. I don’t know what we’ll talk about… (This is a very talkative animal. Keeps talking faster and longer than I can write.)

Me - First things first. Are you a male or a female? I don’t like to call you “It.”

Antelope - I am female. And, I do not know about any lynxes behind me. I can’t see in there. If there is one, it is very good to me. I just learned about it when I picked up your thoughts mentioning me in the same context with a lynx in the store. Would you tell me about this situation? I don’t think there’s any danger to me. I don’t think so, because I don’t smell him.

Lynx - You can’t smell! They did something to us!

Antelope - But, not to worry about anything. People are walking by here all the time, and I see that they are not trying to hurt me. Even the dogs are only sniffing quietly at me and not biting my legs.

Lynx - That’s ’cause you don’t have any legs, anymore! They did something to them.

Antelope - Whose is that voice?

Me - It’s Bucky Cat (a comic strip cat character), the lynx in here. Tell me, Antelope, how did you die? As if I didn’t know.

Antelope - I was shot!

Lynx - So was I!

Me - See how much you have in common, guys? I think you make a very good balance in here. In fact, I think it’s the literal fulfillment of the Bible Prophecy concerning the “lion lying down with the lamb.” You’re an antelope, instead of an actual lamb, but it still fits. And, this mountain lion IS lying down. So, I’m sure that it is so! Very portentous!

Antelope - Why do people stuff us?

Lynx - I don’t know, actually, why they do it. But, I don’t think that it’s a good idea, because everything should be recycled, and I’m stuck in this very comfortable, but completely immobile, position.

Antelope - Anyway, I think it’s not so bad. I would be dead now, anyway, and at least, I can look at things, still. I can’t dart away, like I used to; so I just stay in one place, and I do think that’s okay. So, that’s what I think about it.

Me - Can you hear the music playing out in the Mall?

Antelope - Actually, I do! I think that it’s very interesting. No, I never had any babies…(in answer to my thought-of, but un-think-talked, question.) I did not create any family, and now, I think that I am definitely glad that I didn’t.

Me - Would you like to go home with either the young family, or the man who just inquired about you?

Antelope - No! I would not want to leave this very convenient listening post. It is very special to me. Never in my difficult life have I ever felt so very happy. Difficult, because there were so many dangers out there. And, difficult because of my constant hunger. And now, I don’t seem to get hungry any more. Especially, when I can’t move any longer. It’s very convenient that we don’t have to leap around, eating all over the countryside, and then running from our enemies. Thank you, Lynx-in-the-store, for not chasing after me!

Lynx - It’s nothing to me, because I can’t get up. But, actually, I don’t have to chase you because I’m not hungry, either. I’m really pretty comfortable. Listen, it’s definitely nicer than starving out in the wild.

Antelope - I’ll tell you what, Lynx! Don’t chase me and I will not stomp you! I think that’s a good plan, don’t you?

Me - Do you suppose that the two of you can talk together and keep each other company without my serving as a go-between? Just for your own enjoyment?

Antelope - I think maybe we could. I didn’t even know about him, so I don’t know if we can. What do you think, Lynx?

Lynx - I don’t care! You see, I am not in the habit of talking to anybody, especially to prey.

Me - Well, wait a minute! This article said that you eat rabbits. An antelope is too big for just one of you to hunt, anyway.

Antelope - That’s true. I don’t think any of us are used to chatting very much, but it would be so nice for me to explain to you what is going on outside.

Lynx - Yes, it would! I can’t always tell from up here. Okay, let’s do it, if we can, without this woman in-between.

Me - I’m going to try to set things up so that you two can communicate easily.

And so, it has been done! Let this serve as the symbolic coming together of traditional enemies; of bullies and victims; who no longer need to stay polarized, but who can now begin to help and appreciate each other.”

And that’s the whole story of the Antelope, the Lynx, and me. If you are ever in the outdoor Mall, right up on  the ski slopes of Snowmass Village, Colorado, (just a few miles from famous Aspen,) please visit Stephen’s Fur Store, and you will probably see these two wild friends still carrying on their conversation to this very day.

My last two posts have been taken from a 2003 journal entry, written in Snowmass Village, Colorado, when I worked in a fancy retail store at the ski-slope Mall. The topic was think-talking with inanimate objects. Here, at last, is the actual conversation with the two animals who shared the store with me - in their taxidermied forms. The lynx, or bobcat, was fairly small and its whole body was preserved. The antelope, represented by only head and shoulders, lived at the front window, providing a Western atmosphere…I suppose. This turned out to be the only day that we conversed, as things went back to the way they always had been, on my next working day. Here’s the story:

“I have this bobcat down on my desk from its high perch behind me. I think it’s really a lynx, which is an endangered species. I have just cut out a newspaper article about these wildcats, which they are trying to reintroduce in Colorado. They’re not doing well, at all. Most starve, get hit by cars, or get shot. The ones that do survive, don’t reproduce.

So now, this one is sitting on my desk, giving me its frozen, but highly-alarmed, wild stare. I have just dusted it off with a Kleenex.

Me - “Are you a lynx?”

Lynx -   “I am a lynx. Rather, I was a lynx.” (the voice is distant)

Me - “An ex-lynx, then?”

Lynx -   “Yes, an ex-lynx!”

Me - “Are you male or female?”

Lynx -   “I am male. Females don’t do extra things, like I do. This is really strange for me to be talking to you. So many times, I have been up here, on my perch, and I have wondered who you were, and I wanted to look into your face. I have seen you, virtually, every day, and I know the back of your head very well.”

Me - “That’s the pouncing place, up there, for unsuspecting retail clerks, like me.”

Lynx -   “You are not only a retail clerk. I have seen you become a good friend to some of the people.”

Me - “Do you want to give me an overall view of these people?”

Lynx -   “Yes. I have never been in contact with humans, ever in my life. Only in my death. And, I don’t think that I would get along with many of them. I must say that you do get along with them. I don’t think that I would. I would bite them.”

Me - “How did you die?”

Lynx -   “I was shot by somebody. I was minding my own business and he came into my territory, and his dogs treed me. They took me away after they killed me. So, here I am. At least, I am still whole.”

Me - “How would you like to be a lynx coat, like some of your buddies are?”

Lynx -   “I would not like that, at all. Not if I didn’t like the person wearing it. Mortality is not so bad. It’s the immortality that really is difficult, if you wind up in a place you don’t want to be. Get me away from this place. I don’t want to stay up on that shelf any more.”

Me - “How about that nice family that inquired about buying you?”

Lynx -   “No! It would be so difficult to stay away from you. I’ve grown accustomed to the back of your head. Actually, actually, I don’t want to leave my prey, up there. I’m always planning ways to jump on that antelope. Could you take both of us with you? I’m serious! We want to go with you when you move! I can’t stand it when that other lady comes to work, when you do not show up. She is so nervous and I keep wanting to jump on her and calm her down with my teeth. But, you are so different. I like to be with you.”

Me - “I’m giving you and your prey, your antelope friend up there in the front window, credit for the good atmosphere in here. That helps me to put up with being in here so much.”

Lynx -   “Yes, I think you’re right. It’s a pretty good place to be.”

This cat still has a built-in, startled look in his eyes, and always will have, for that matter. But, I swear that it’s softened up a bit, from the first good look we got at each other’s faces. Something about his close proximity is very sneezy. As if the dust is ingrained. I wiped him off as much as I could.”

(To be continued… Next post, the antelope will get in on the conversation. Stay tuned.)

I lived in Snowmass Village, Colorado, and in its nearby neighbor, Aspen, Colorado, for about nine years before moving to Florida. This episode occurred in March, 2003, while I was working in a beautiful, high-end store in the Snowmass Village Mall, right on the ski slopes. I had long been conducting inner, think-talk conversations with The Holy Spirit, but this was the first time in my life (and the only time, actually) that I ever attempted to discuss anything with a taxidermied animal.

This entry is thanks to Anne Anderson, whom I met this week at her booth during Dunedin’s Art Harvest Fair. She makes beautiful, life-like wild animal busts and statues using sisal from the agave plant. They look amazingly real and alive. Somehow, we began our conversation with the subject of telepathy, probably because I was remembering the few moments of animal telepathy, about to be described here. She has never communicated with her creations, but she did admit to an active inner life. Nor do I usually open my conversations with strangers by revealing anything about this inner nature of mine, either.

Anyway, when I came home, I rooted around in my journal entries; found this account, and the next day, gave her a copy. Then I figured, why not share this with you guys, since you respond so well to the woo-woo stories. Keep that up. I’ll have a book out soon - name of Inner Answers.

Okay, to continue yesterday’s report:

“Let’s explore this topic of the stuffed animals in the store to see if there’s anything to that. Telekinesis! I think that’s the word used to describe the touching of an object to learn something about it with your mind. I’ve never really spent the time necessary to do justice to it, though I once did it with photographs, quite a lot, placing my fingers on them and then getting told something by The Holy Spirit. These are things that I could cultivate which would make my downtime much more exciting and meaningful, if only I could remember to do more of it. (Still haven’t done that yet.)

Oh, my Holy Spirit! What about me talking to inanimate objects? Would You please explain to me about the Voice that I hear answering me?

“Yes, I will tell you about this talent of yours. Everything that you directly address can hear you and does answer you back. The fact that you thought that it was Me, putting words in their mouth and answering you with what I thought they were thinking, is not the case at all. You do, actually, hear them speaking. Sometimes, they don’t have anything much to say and so, you probably thought that I didn’t want to go into the conversation very deeply.

But, let Me assure you, Honey, that you are very capable of talking directly to anything, and anything is very capable of answering you back. Now, specifically, on the subject of these animals in your store, they are definitely good and you probably did pick up on their calm vibrations all along. Now, they are so glad that you have discovered this secret, and they will love to talk to you directly. Let’s do try that today.

Oh My God! Let’s do this as much as we can. I would love to hear what these objects would say to you. I cannot tell what they are thinking, without touching them directly, engaging them in conversation, Myself, so it would have been silly for Me to step in and answer for them all this time. I admit, you have not tried to do this very often and I wondered why you did not talk very long, once you did receive a response from something you spoke to, in think-talk.”

(To be continued… I know my posts are long but my journal entries are even longer, so I must break these into several days’ worth. Tomorrow, I promise, you will hear the comments of the lynx and the antelope. Now, what you may think of all this, I have no idea. I wouldn’t believe it either if it hadn’t happened to me. But, it is a rather interesting story. Stay tuned.)

“I have just read a book, called Medicine Maker, about the traveling of consciousness. The author had a spirit stone, which he found in Hawaii and brought to California. He felt that it contained the spirit of Pele, the Volcano Goddess, and said that, pretty soon, plants in his backyard began to bloom and bear grapes like crazy. If he put his hand on it, he felt a jolt of energy, and so he decided to communicate with the rock in think-talk. Answers, either in an affirmative feeling, or in some whole transmitted idea, came into his mind, full-blown.

When someone is courageous enough to publish what they have been through, it really helps the rest of us, out here in the world, who resonate with something of the same thing. Our experiences are quite different, but some of the things we’ve learned from them are similar. The whole field is a unified one and we can use this process to understand things about time, soul, creation, and the purpose of life. So, it’s like reading the account of a fellow foreign traveler, who might have gone to a different country than I did, but whose comments ring true to my own experience. It helps put the puzzle pieces together as to what an inner life is all about. Best of all, it validates my conviction that we who travel in these Other Lands of the Mind are not crazy!

On rare occasions, I have addressed inanimate objects in think-talk and I’ve always received an instant answer in mental words. But, I’ve never taken it very seriously, and have never continued the conversation very long. One example is my little Volkswagen bug convertible. I chat lightly with it when I get in, telling her what we are going to do, complimenting her for starting and just encouraging her, in general. She answers back and sometimes, I can feel her questions. This urge to communicate is temporary and recent, probably merely from guilt because I’ve stored her for so very long under a snowbank during these Colorado winters.

I’m very breezy about this communication and have always thought that it was simply The Holy Spirit (with Whom I frequently converse), humoring me; playing with me; providing words for what He might guess would be said by that object “if it could talk.” So, I play too, and chit-chat. But, I don’t take it too far. For one thing, it always sounds like His Voice, though maybe much less strong.

Anyway, yesterday I had just read this book about the spirit stone. A family was in the store and inquired about the two stuffed animals - a stuffed lynx and an antelope - for their new house. There is a small bobcat on a shelf over my head, which has simply sat up there as long as I have worked in this store. I lifted him down so that they could see. Small for a bobcat; big for a cat; he has long, soft fur and is lying in a relaxed pose, with head raised up, looking forward. Might actually be a “her,” come to think of it.

Anyway, after they left, I kept my hand on its back and stroked it with the other hand and directly addressed it in think-talk. Something about “Would you like to go with that family?” It immediately answered, in a cottony, think-talk voice: “Yes, I would! They seemed very nice.” I stroked and talked a little more and then returned it to the shelf.

Walking home, I talked this over with The Holy Spirit and asked if it was really Him providing the answers for these inanimate objects. He was shocked. “No! Never! It comes from them and always has.” He told me that I really do tune into them and He has nothing to do with putting words in their mouths or assuming what they would say, as I had thought. So, that was news.

I have often wondered why it was that I could stand to spend so many hours alone in that small store, without going stark raving something. It’s very odd for me because I couldn’t tolerate that in a lot of places. Perhaps, it is the wise, calm presence of this sweet cat above my head that clears the air and makes it feel good to me. I have no idea! Maybe I’ll try to find out. We also have a mounted antelope’s neck and head, staring out of the front window. A small predator and a large prey. Maybe it results in some sort of eternal balance or a coming to terms in easy companionship. Who knows? Shall we interview them in the store today?”

That was the end of that journal excerpt and I’m going to continue this theme on the next posting. What can I say to those of you who would object to the reality of taxidermy, in the first place. I don’t approve of hunting or stuffing, either, but the deed was done long before I came on the scene and it was the current situation all three of us, me, the lynx, and the antelope, had dealt out to us. Tune in later, to see how they felt about it.

Oh, one more point: I do believe in a universal consciousness contained in all things, which makes it much easier for me to swing along this path. For those readers without such a foundation; you have full permission to scoff. Even though cotton now replaces the brain cells of these dead animals, perhaps their selfness can return for a chat, when addressed. I know…. I know…. Strange and weird, indeed, but it does hang together in a pretty good story. Do tune in again.

Blog sites, notwithstanding. Sometimes, I ignore you guys because I’m focusing on some other writing-related project. Or, as just this minute, wasting time on daily tasks, like getting stymied trying to hang drapery rods so that I can install the fabulous, light-blocking, mustard-colored, custom-made, drapes found at the thrift shop. Which just happen to be…I have now learned by finally measuring…eight-feet long. Help! That’s my ceiling height! I’ll bet that next I’ll learn that they’re too heavy for my rods; bought without benefit of an intense study of the drapes already in my possession.

Now, a quick read of the rod’s directions reveals that I must run out to the hardware store for different thingamajiggies for the screws. All this, to take advantage of a “real deal” on some good-looking drapes. Mine do need replacing, actually.

That’s kind of the way my writing goes. Very wingdingarooney. Actually, that’s the way I travel, too. Not a whole lot of pre-planning. Wheee! Life is an adventure!

Well, this Writer’s Unblock is like that too. Let’s get this thing DONE, says I! These days, all of a sudden, the self-publishing door flies open and I have a lifetime of writing to cram through it before I kick the bucket. Or, before the newest-style bugaboo hits - the dreaded Big A of the Elderly. Not that there’s a hint of either on the horizon, but at this age, one can’t just sit around smelling roses all the time.

What has brought me to this new state of introspection and critical evaluation? Yesterday, I emailed Patricia Fry, whom I will hire to copyedit my manuscript, and I got to reading her many blogs and her website for her Matilija Press, and realized that she had so much to teach me before I send this book, electronically, to her. Why should she be made to point out the obvious in correcting my manuscript, if I could learn, beforehand,  to correct it on my own by reading her encylopedic book about writing and publishing, “The Right Way To Publish And Sell Your Book: Your Complete Guide To Successful Authorship.” Then, what I wind up sending her will be my very best effort, no holds barred, and not the lazy writer’s way of saying “Make me a famous author, now!” to the talent we hire to clean up our pages.

The flashlight turns inward upon my own crazy rush to get these pressing tasks DONE! Now!

Then, I am left with the writerly-equivalent of a bunch of too-big drapes and incorrect hardware. Which only leads to more time-consuming running around.

Slow down, Linda. Breathe!

I figured that they would be much more interesting than blog-style reports about the home front. My own daily life proceeds quietly with great purpose because I’m working steadily away on my second book manuscript and am now in the first read-through, after pulling all of the chapters together.  I’m hoping to have it ready to send to my copy editor soon.  Once that happens, things will become very purposeful, indeed, as the drill is quite clear from there on out.

Getting the material written is the most vital part of any book. Duh!?? Well, having something original to say, in the first place, actually ranks above the writing. Double Duh!

Then comes the first proofing and cleanup-up, so that everything reads well and correctly. In my case, that means taking out lots of commas and checking my spelling, plus just applying common sense. Have I stated things clearly enough? Do I really want to reveal myself to this extent? All the hard questions.

Then, getting trusted others to read the manuscript, with the general public in mind. How will this play in Peoria? In the case of this book, that’s anybody’s guess.

Next comes more time at the computer cleaning things up, clarifying sentences, catching more mistakes; whipping the whole into the best shape I can before sending the manuscript, electronically, to my professional copy editor.

This creates a lull in the writing stage, but allows more time for cover design. I’ve been thinking on it, all along, especially about what in the world to name this book. My titles always go through many morphings and manifestations before finally settling in to the magical one which will do the trick. At last, this has settled down to a real beauty of a name, which I’m happy with and can easily pronounce. Some potential titles run on for a whole sentence, eight or ten words long.

It’s such a temptation to write a mini-essay with the cover name and sub-title, trying to explain yourself and all your motives, right there on the spine. Begging someone to pluck your book off of the shelf in that literary beauty contest constantly conducted in a book store. At last, I’ve overcome that temptation. I figured out a two word title.

You may have noticed by now, that I’m not introducing this new book to you, yet. That will come; that will come. We are focusing on the process today.

Next, I’ll hire my cover designers. I happen to know exactly what I want it to look like. At least, I think I do. I’ve sketched my current idea and will send it to my artist to see how it comes out. If it doesn’t look so great, I have a second suggestion, or I’ll put it into his hands for new ideas. This is a back-and-forth operation which continues until everyone is pleased. My first book cover took many months between me and a graphics firm in Buenos Aires, Argentina. Second time around should be a dream.

Finally, my editor will return my manuscript, electronically, with all sorts of yellow slashings all over it. Those will be digital highlighter marks showing me things I need to change. I generally take her word for it and do as suggested. At last, with a finished manuscript… completed to the best of my ability…I will turn it into a PDF file and pop it off to Outskirts Press. My new publisher will take care of some of the inside design features which I had to do myself last year and that will also speed things up. Basically, once I send this manuscript out to the professionals, my role shifts to that of a tinkering onlooker.

Soon, I’ll consult with their marketing department for the widest possible commercial distribution. We’ll also concentrate on the creation of an audio book and an ebook version of this title, and all sorts of newly-developing things… such as those Espresso book machines, just now cropping up around the country.You’ll find them in all sorts of odd, unbooky locations, such as hotel lobbies, eateries, and regular stores. The size of an ATM machine, Espressos contain thousands of book titles. You drop your money in the slot and within minutes, your on-the-spot-printed book pops out. Cool! Just like those little plastic dinosaurs when we were kids. Double cool!

After the first of the year, my finished book will fly out of my hands, and into others. Yay! It’s a great feeling to finally let go of a creation and see what happens next.

Guess what? You all, my dear readers, have helped me greatly as a part of an informal marketing survey I’ve been conducting these past few months. You might have noticed that I have been alternating regular, everyday, “here’s-what’s-going-on-in-my-life” postings (like this one) with the woo-woo subjects, such as the Humanity Mankind series.

On one of my blog sites, I have a way to peek behind the scenes and see which ones get the most hits.

Bigtime, you are voting for the way-out ones. That pattern has been consistent for many months now. Well, this is a great relief, because my second book is very woo-woo. Yes, it’s New Age. Yes, it’s spiritual. And, if the public reacts the way you did, the book should do very well.

No, I don’t have 12 million hits a month, the way I saw, yesterday, that a city girl/country girl cookbook blog has. But that’s okay with me. I guess, everybody likes food way better than they like God! Just kidding.

However, I have “scientifically proved” that a great many of you are extremely curious about the sort of Ripley’s Believe It Or Not information concerning the Upper Levels, which I like to throw at you.

So, keep the hits coming. More soon.

Humanity Mankind’s only hope is flight and he must learn it after take-off.

If only he could fly…

That eagle soaring toward him could serenely take the canyon rim, and wheel and turn above it, without a thought of rocks below. How did she do it?

Subdued by desperation, Humanity Mankind reconfigures… a sudden willing, watching, fledgling.

“She soars on nothing! What is there that holds her up? Allows those graceful turns and easy risings? No flapping in her wings; legs tucked under her body. I’ll try that! Why is she so confident? What is her  strength? She has no fear. I want that too.

Oh, Eagle! I will your little eaglet be; if only you will speak to me!”

“Oh Mankind, let us fly together. What you lack in plume and feather, you will find within your heart!”

This eagle voice echoes in his head; not in his ears. It calms him. Age-old blither voices fade away and fear is gone. He stretches out his arms, like wings; legs together, body straight. The frightened runner feels a warm wind lifting him, steady and secure. Some invisible flow has taken hold upon the moment.

“She answered me! She will teach me flight! I’m ready, Mother Eagle. How shall I do it?”

The early morning sun finds man and eagle soaring side by side. Wordless words flow softly to and fro. Sweet prayer rises to the heavens, calling forth an eternity of power. Off-guard completely, this man’s man settles into love. He rides those thermal drafts from somewhere deep within the danger zone.

She sings to him. He can’t believe it! Suspended there, his past encasings fall away. His shackles…feet and hands…just fall away. Injured eyes, torn hair, scratched skin, warring fingers…all like snakeskin, peel away and plummet to the past; like clues for archeologists, into his first earth’s clefting.

Oh, lighter and at peace, Humanity Mankind listens to his heart. Not eagle’s song, but Other. A Holy Sound! Coming from the universe…

No…from far above the universe. A thrumming, pulsing, happy Voice! A human-sounding Holy Voice:

“Humanity Mankind! Are you willing to fly? You have a Sage beside you. Her name is Nature and she is Mine, as all of them have been. Her lantern is the sun. Now, fly with her across the canyon rim and on beyond. You needn’t run in darkness anymore; but wing your way, a new creation, far, far beyond your highest hopes! You are aloft. Your soul is safe. So, sing the Eagle Song and come to Me, My Son!”

And, as they fly, wings spring from him and woman springs from her. Lovers, angel-like, they soar beyond that chasm, soon behind them and forgotten.

One, the soul and one, the song.

One, the lamp and one, the light.

One, the spark and one, the flame…

“One, the Sage and one, the Seeker. Humanity Mankind has come of age!”

(The End)    Written by Linda J. Brown, August 11, 1993

Loft was bought by deeds like this. A little loft kept Humanity Mankind from sinking further; but many deeds and many prayers were needed, for the leaden elements were in a state of panic. They sensed the end and strove to win the moment for themselves. If there was to be any last moment, let it be for them, they reasoned. “Eat, drink, and be merry, for tomorrow…or even in just a second…we may die!” Such thoughts brought sink and canceled out the loft. Hopelessness infected all, threatened all, with lead and baser elements. Mere helium had to stay on its toes to keep its spirits up.

And so, man hangs, while dawn creeps up the canyon. What will be his fate?

He hasn’t many choices. If “Heavy” wins, he plummets to the bottom, to be roiled by ice-cold, dashing waters; gnawed by sharks, piranha, and huge, man-eating clams. Then, he will crawl, half-eaten, to the sand, and taking decades, get his breath and health and strength, only to face the unforgiving granite cliff sides towering, like prison walls between him and his future. With untold pain, he will have to scale them, somehow, leaving generations sloughed on tiny, craggy ledges. He will not die, however. That is certain. The Sage has guaranteed it. But, the hard way, will be hard. That too, is guaranteed.

The middle way would be to flounder, zig-zagging up and down. Neither borne aloft, nor totally in a tumble, as elements within him cancel each other out. It is conceivable that such a klutz might reach the canyon wall and gain a toe-hold. He could avoid the ruin awaiting him below, but what a strain to get a purchase on a sheet of black obsidian. And, one purchase will not do for long. There must be another, and another, and another, if progress would be made and not entrapment on a weathered, hostile ledge.

(To be continued…)

Skin’s small voice was shouted down. The runner ran. But, skin is a rather omnipresent organ whose chief function is embrace. It owns the treasure of touch and cuts through all domains and principalities, covering all alike. A notice hit its network.

As the message was sent by synapse to every molecule, the atoms changed. They did their seven-year recycle all at once. But, this renewal was a funny thing and totally undetected by the man. What happened was a sort of polarizing. some cells got leaden; some got light. Some heavy, some like helium. Strange goings-on inside, indeed.

One minute, it was there. The next, it wasn’t. The earth, I mean. He swore it was under his feet on that last step, but now, he floundered wildly in dark air, pumping legs like bicycle pedals. His arms flapped nothingness. He tried to swim in nothing. This wasn’t fair! There WAS a chasm! There should have been a sign, a fence, a warning! He was MAN! How dare they do this to him?

Far, far down below, a roaring river and pictured rapids. There would be crocodiles and snakes and dragons, too, perhaps. A bat flew at his head. Vultures wheeled hungrily, sizing up the meal. The night wind howled as storm came on with fury.

Tasting fear, his legs abandoned rivalry and stretched in hurdler stride. His arms and hands took up the cue and found a leaper’s stance. Dry bone digits stopped their endless clacking and took their places aerodynamically at the end of limbs. The ears popped their stuffing out and eyes opened wide to catch a fleeting clue of survival.

Only Skin was calm, though sweating profusely, ridding itself of toxic bile. Tears welled out of ducts, long dry, and calls went forth for something… Mother! Father! God! Anything! Some Rescuer…to save the situation.

Since just before the chasm, the skin had been extremely busy. Starting with a point above the heart, the transformation sped and spread from point to point, until at the moment when earth ceased to relate in any meaningful way to the suddenly-airborne runner, most of the body had been, at least thinly, covered with the blue-green algae of belief. With penetrating force, knowledge went deep, taking root in bone and marrow.

Now, man was half and half. Fortunately for him, it didn’t work out that his left side was old and his right side was new. No, it wasn’t that way, at all. It was that every other cell or so was different than it had been before the bastinado. The very breaths expelled by these small pockets of life was rarefied. Minutia coalesced with good intentions. Thoughts formed words and words formed prayers; and deeds made puffs of worship.

Loft was bought on puffs of prayer. His arcing fall arrested, man wobbled over the mile-deep cut; sensing black canyon walls, straight and sheer, no-nonsense, no forgiving. It wasn’t all that wide…this canyon. But he had come unprepared for leaping. Untrained, with a soft, indulgent body; unfit for mountain climbing, or mountain-falling, for that matter.

He couldn’t bully anybody. He should have listened to the Sage, especially this last time. What was it that He said? How did He say to do it? If only he had paid attention. Meanwhile, skin consulted its tattoo; marshaled troops autonomicaly; sent blood to the extremities, gave instructions, comfort, and commands.

“One righteous work, performed in THIS day, equalleth all the virtuous acts, which for myriads of centuries, men have practiced…”

(To be continued…)