Well diary, today was the Mushroom Mardi Gras in Morgan Hill. Despite its name, there was nary a mushroom to be found in the entire festival. There were several other poisons peddled by the food demons who have apparently been let out of Hell for the weekend to supplement their meagre incomes earned by jabbing sinners in the ass with pitchforks during the week and on bank holidays.
Overnight the streets of Morgan Hill became a veritable gauntlet of fatty food booths. The air was rent with the sound of spitting oil fom the hundreds of overworked deep fat fryers. What appeared to be fog was actually smoke from BBQ's laden with red meat and pork cracklins.
Despite many overwhelming temptations,I was able to circumvent the funnel cakes and chocolate dipped marshmallows (Lead me not into temptation but deliver me from evil!). The demon selling a cone of a hundred tiny freshly made douhgnuts was also invited to take a hike. As far as the cotton candy man, A simple "Get thee behind me" was adequate and I walked through the valley of fat unscathed. I did succumb, however, after a day of hard slogging and much work. The Kettle Korn lady was beckoning and I thought to myself "Just one......BAG!" Ok, so I scarfed down a bag but in my defense, it was a small bag and I was quite hungry. In fact, on the triage list of diet sins, Kettle Korn is hardly "mortal" and really rates down there with eating an extra banana or in my case, 5 or 6 extra bananas. Nonetheless, one can always console oneself by saying "it could have been worse".
Ok so it is a bit of embroidery. There probably were not "hundreds' of deep fat fryers. But the dangers of the choclate dipped marshmallows were real. One could just imagine the pancreatic meltdown that would occur after one ill advised bite. In any case it was a very enjoyable day. In life and especially in festivals one must pick one's dietary battles and as long as we confess our sins right after we commit them I think that lets us off the hook. This works out great because it is DINNER TIME!
Till next time Diary!
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Holy Man
THE HOLY MAN
The wind was blowing cool as the first hint of fall started to make itself felt. Amia knew it was coming but tried to hold it off as she had the last 200 falls and winters before this. She had been travelling all day and was tired. She looked around the clearing she had stopped in. It was high on a hilltop and afforded a view and thus protection on all sides except the portion blocked by the thatch of trees behind her. The last rays of sun slanted into the clearing making the grass appear fluorescent. The sky was blue with big puffy clouds and there was the smell of warm lavender in the air which was made all the more precious against the chill of the wind and the promise of impending winter.
Since the Apocalypse 200 years ago, fall took on a much more ominous tone as the harbinger of winter with its harsh and brutal cold, precious little shelter and barely any food worth eating. Amia was in her 38th year and felt the familiar sensations of approaching old age. She knew that it started with aching joints and failing eyesight and hearing, so subtle that it was almost unnoticeable. This would inevitably, slowly progress into a state of almost complete helplessness, and lacking the co-support of a group or family, would result in death by debilitation and thus starvation or the swift and relatively kind end of being devoured or killed by animals or humans, whichever was first to discover her helplessness.
Amia came from a race of immortals who found in the carnal death, no break in consciousness. Memories did not die with the body but were as fresh as the day they were formed even when waking from the sleep of death into a new baby’s body. She was one of a small handful of these immortals who found their way to planet earth back in the year 500 BC. They had made a pact with each other that they would continue here until they could figure out a way to end the suffering of earth’s people. Since then Amia had lived, grown old and died many times trapped here on a planet with its wars, suffering and endlessly repeating cycles of destruction, that, despite the centuries of trying to understand, made no sense to her whatsoever.
Amia recalled her days tens of thousands of years prior to her trip to earth. She had been much more powerful and godlike. Her words were cast in stone and prophesies came true without any counter consideration. She simply said something and it was true. She could make lightening appear from her fingertips and, in fact had used this skill to entertain herself on more than one occasion. Life was relatively simple even as short a while ago as the 1300s. Whenever she spotted an unjust action among humans, she would right the wrongs simply by stating the correct outcome. This was a relatively simple and fun game until she began to notice that sometimes, unbelievably, she was wrong in her assessment and unwittingly hurt those she was trying to protect. With that doubt, her godlike powers diminished. And with the diminishment of her powers, the unsettling dream began.
Each successive lifetime seemed to sap her spiritual strength more and more until she started to consider herself more human and less like a god. She wondered when she would submit to the inevitability of death and wake up thinking that this was the first time she had ever lived. She knew that that too was coming and she would be trapped forever having forgotten the reason she came here in the first place and the fact that she could leave any time. With each successive lifetime, the dream became more frequent and intense until it was an inexorable and painful part of her sleep.
Amia had long since lost her faith in gods. This faith had been strong in her as long as she considered herself one of them. Now, in her quasi-human form, her faith had gone from a strongly formed and forged Truth to a vague, wispy and frail concept that she worried would soon disappear forever.
In the shocking few days after the Apocalypse, Amia had stumbled unfeeling and unthinking into a ruined Indian shrine. Among the rubble she had found there had been a small stone idol of the elephant god Ganesha. Although she had held humans and their beliefs at arm’s length, Amia had not turned a blind eye or deaf ear to discussions of their various gods. These she had studied in secret looking for clues to the meaning of human life. Many of the gods had been a bitter disappointment. They had contained all of the worst human attributes and were revered by humans who wanted to destroy but not be responsible for that destruction. In Ganesha, she had found the most worthy attributes. She had also found that those who had embraced Ganesha and attempted to embody those attributes had been the happiest and most successful in life, up until the Holocaust which rendered everything more or less meaningless.
Nonetheless, Amia coveted this elephant headed idol and when she felt impending death, she squirreled it away somewhere safe until, 10 years later she would have a body capable of finding it again.
Amia looked around her. She had the unsettling feeling that there was someone out there who was aware of her presence. The trees moved gently with the wind and the sun inched its way across the sky. The grass in the clearing danced its autumn dance but other than that, she perceived no motion. Yet, the feeling persisted.
Amia sifted through the items in her leather pouch. The pouch with its meager contents, her broadsword, and the clothes on her back were the only possessions Amia now had and they traveled with her as she moved from place to place like a shadow walking gingerly on cat’s paws. Amia looked at herself in a shard of mirrored glass that she carried with her. She was thin, almost to the point of emaciation. Her dark halo of black hair formed angry curls around her chiseled face. Her boots were so worn that she could feel the ground through them and she would definitely need to procure a new set of woolen tights as the ones she was wearing would not make it through another winter. The metal belt she wore hung heavily around her waist and was starting to chafe on her bones.
Amia unfolded her colored scarf and draped it deftly and reverently on a stone next to the clearing. She unwrapped Ganesha and placed him lovingly on top of the scarf. This was Amia’s every day routine.
Slowly she unsheathed her sword and with slow and deliberate movements went into her ritual that was half a dance of worship and half martial art. This routine had been her stability every day since the Apocalypse. It kept her strength and flexibility up and was absolutely necessary to survival in this barbarian, post-apocalyptic existence. The drums of her universe beat inside her head. She concentrated on the sound and her movements were perfectly matched to them. Very lightly through her concentration, she perceived the being nearby. He was close but not stalking. She closed her eyes to assist her perception and she kept on with the movements to the drums. The being was watching her. She turned as per her routine with her eyes still closed. If this was an invader, he would surely strike but he remained motionless. She could feel his eyes burning into her as though they were face to face. Amia toyed with this being. She could kill him instantly if he were human. Still he remained. Suddenly Amia had the disconcerting feeling that he was reading her thoughts. Enraged by the mere thought of this, Amia, her eyes still closed, slashed down at him with her sword. Instantly, the sword was blocked by the upraised sword of the stranger.
Although Amia had perceived him with her eyes closed, she had perceived absolutely no motion. It was as though the sword had just appeared there in his hand blocking her most powerful movement. Amia, shocked, opened her eyes and looked into the calm eyes of the stranger. Angrier she picked up her sword and struck again. Before she could even place her blade for the movement, he was there blocking it. He was inhumanly quick. Amia stared, fearful and unbelieving. There was something vaguely familiar about him and she searched her mind for comprehension. The body was different. It was the body of a mature and muscular male…but the being was someone she knew. The clothes he wore gave no clue as to his identity. They were simple and colorless except for the bright red scarf he wore around his neck. The dream flashed before her eyes and, try as she might, Amia could not banish it to the edges of her consciousness as she had so many times before. It was as though the stranger held it there in front of her face forcing her to look at it. Amia felt a surge of unreasoning fury and disengaged her sword bringing it down and around trying to slash at him from the side. Again he was there blocking.
Amia raised her sword again and again slashing at the stranger, her fury mounting with each thwarted strike. In a horrifying flash it dawned on Amia that she was the one being toyed with. He was playing with her as a cat plays with an injured bird. She was sure that when he tired of this game, he would end her life and she would be powerless to stop him. Almost imperceptibly, Amia felt rather than saw anger surge through his body. Her fear deepened as he continued to engage her. She knew her death was imminent and thought that at the very least she would make him work for his victory.
Her arms were weakening and her movements were becoming more grossly inaccurate. The thought came to her that perhaps this was a blessing. A relatively quick death now would save her from the agony of slow and painful deterioration for the next few decades.
As soon as the thought was formed in her mind, Amia’s foot slipped slightly. It was barely discernable but the stranger perceived it and instantly pressed home his advantage. Amia fell back and struck her head hard on the ground. Briefly she lost consciousness. With relief she thought that she would not be in her body when he finished her off.
As she came back to herself, she realized that she was still alive. A shiver ran down the middle of her back. The arrogant bastard! He waited for her to return so that he could force her to suffer the pain and agony of yet another death! Her eyes were closed but she felt the hardness of cold steel placed against her throat. Slowly the blade moved up and down caressing her neck. She opened one eye slightly and saw that he was standing over her, straddling her and holding the heavy broadsword as though it were weightless.
When he saw her open her eye, he moved the blade slowly down the neckline of her tunic and caressed the hollow between her breasts. Amia had been through this many times but the physical manifestations of terror always threatened to overwhelm her. Her body was shaking, her eyelids fluttered and her limbs went numb in a vain effort to mask the intense pain that was due any moment. Amia took her last breath and lifted her chin willing the stranger to thrust the blade home. She waited. The blade continued tracing unending and inexorable circles on her chest.
Amia opened her eyes and looked at him. He saw her respond and immediately stepped off walking over to the makeshift altar that Amia had placed there moments before.
“Really Amia!” He said. “I expected so much more of you!”
Amia lifted herself up onto her elbows struggling to understand what was occurring. Her arms were still shaking from effort and fear. Immediately a surge of pain sliced through her head and a wave of nausea threatened to overtake her. She gagged and closed her eyes willing the wave to pass. The stranger watched her shaking his head in scorn at her weakness. Slowly her breathing returned to normal and the fear that had been with her suddenly turned to an anger, the intensity of which she had never felt before.
She got up, shoved her sword in her scabbard and stalked over to the altar where the stranger was standing. She reached across him to grab Ganesha and with an impossibly quick movement he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She struggled but he held her fast and twisted her to him. She looked up into his face and memories and recognition flooded in overwhelming her and making her head swim. Instantly it dawned on her that she was staring into the half-forgotten, angry eyes of the Holy Man.
“Where have you been? I’ve been searching for you for centuries.” She gasped, knowing that he knew it was a lie.
The stranger smiled. “I’ve been around. I’ve been in your head mostly.” He laughed softly, almost cruelly. “I’ve been hanging out in your dreams.”
Amia bridled. “My dreams?” “A lot you know about my dreams!”
“I know about them, one in particular, why don’t you tell me about it?”
Amia sneered.
“What, idle chatter to pass an idle day? No thanks, some things are better left forgotten!”
The Holy Man persisted.
“Tell me about the dream you have been having.”
Amia’s nerve failed and she became petulant.
“Why? You seem to already know about it! You can stay here and figure it out. I have better things to do.”
Amia turned with every intention of storming away into the brush but the Holy Man held her fast. The pressure of his fingers was hurting her wrist and Amia tried hard to master her anger.
“No, you will stay” The Holy Man said sharply. “Tell me about your dream.”
Amia turned. “It was a long time ago! Why go over it now?”
“Because it is still fresh and it still tortures you. Tell me about your dream.”
Amia dropped her head resigned. “It’s not a dream. It’s a memory.”
“Tell me about your memory.”
Amia’s anger flared again could no longer be contained. Even as she was expressing it she was surprised and afraid at the intensity of it.
“It happened 10,000 years ago! Why do you want me to go over it again? You were there you know exactly what happened!”
The Holy Man was unmoved by Amia’s anger and continued.
“I want you to tell me.”
Amia was defeated. She knew that he would win any battle of wills. This stranger, this Holy Man had been on this planet as long as she had and miraculously had not seemed to lose any of his godlike powers. Amia was meek and embarrassed at her weakened state. She also knew that he knew her thoroughly. Many thousands of years ago they had been student and teacher, brothers, sisters, priest and neophyte, even lovers several times on this snaky track of existence. He had moved in and out of her unbroken existence leaving a large hole each time he had done so. Deny it as she might, she loved this man fiercely. Overcome, she weakly related her memory.
“I lived in a city. It was a city constantly besieged by rebel forces. Each time they were successful, the new city leaders would promise us hope, salvation and Truth. I was the son of a rich man then. I was young and beautiful.” Amia smiled at the memory of her perfect man-child body with its deep brown eyes, perfect face and long glossy black hair. She again felt the touch of her fine clothes and the smell of the fragrant oils she used to wear. Her future had been bright with the promise that comes with great beauty. She glared angrily at her grime stained hands and emaciated legs. “Not like I’ve become, grizzled and degraded, eating rats just to survive!”
Amia sighed and stared into the distance.
“We looked to our city leaders for Truth but all they offered us were lies and betrayal. We had given up hope of ever finding it. We just wanted to know who we were, what were we doing there and most of all, were we good people?”
Amia looked up at the Holy Man and smiled somewhat insolently.
“Then you came. You waltzed in like an evening breeze. Right into a city besieged by turmoil and you were oil on troubled waters. Things immediately calmed down. We came to your lectures and the Truth you gave us pierced right through our defenses and made us cry at the simplicity of it. It was as though it had been there the entire time and we were just too blind to see it.”
Amia paused. What she had to say next was very personal and she wondered if it was still safe with this man to let her defenses down so uncharacteristically. She took a breath and resumed.
“At one point I stepped forward to speak with you and you opened your arms to me and walked toward me as if you had been looking for me forever and had finally found me. You took my hands in yours and looked into my eyes. I looked back and saw such perfect love and understanding that I was overwhelmed. I had never felt love so pure and unconditional as I had that day 10,000 years ago or since then. I have never forgotten it.” Amia paused and whispered. “I have never recovered from it.”
The Holy Man’s manner softened. “Nor have I.”
Amia looked up, embarrassed and tearful at the tender moment and pleaded “Why do you make me relive it?!”
The Holy Man responded gently “because it is necessary.”
Amia took a deep breath and haltingly continued with her story.
“There was a lecture, out in the coliseum. The whole town was there. You had promised us more Truth that day and we were so thirsty for it…I’ll never forget that day. I had a seat in the front row and I can still feel the heat of the sun on my neck and the glow of anticipation I felt. It’s as though it were yesterday. I made a point of remembering every detail of the surroundings and the emotions of those present. I knew this would be a momentous occasion.”
Amia struggled against the lump that was starting to form in her throat. It was the same choking ball of emotion that accompanied the dream night after night and woke her each morning with tears running freely making white rivers down through the ever-present grime on her face. She was embarrassed that she might slip and the Holy Man might see these tears and guess at the profound sadness behind them. To Amia, tears were a weakness and she had learned in this world that hiding weakness was one of the cardinal rules of survival.
“I don’t want to go on!” She said angrily. “What’s done is done! What’s lost cannot be salvaged!”
“If what’s lost is part of you, it can be salvaged.” The Holy Man said gently. “Please, continue.”
The dream flooded back to Amia as she started to speak. The years rolled away. It was as though the actions were taking place in the present right in front of her eyes. She blinked in an attempt to avoid the images but they enveloped her.
“The governor took the stage. It was a raised stone stage with a large arch over it. Beneath it was yellow sand that reflected the sunlight. He stood there with his hands outstretched like Jesus on a cross. The sand reflected up onto him like a divine light creating a halo around him. He looked like some religious painting. He remained in that position for awhile until we were cognizant of only him. The crowd leaned forward in anticipation and then he yelled out your name. I held my breath and leaned forward too. Through the arched entryway next to the stage, you advanced toward us. It took a long time for you to walk that path up to the stage but we watched your every move. You were smiling and looked eager to be with us.”
Amia shook her head. She was agitated and it lent her voice an urgency. Her words came faster as she continued.
“As you walked slowly approaching the archway, I saw a movement in the transom above the arch. My attention went there and stuck. I immediately felt a heavy foreboding! I tried to convince myself that I had been wrong but the feeling grew stronger as you walked closer. I wanted to yell out to you but I didn’t know what to yell! I thought I must be crazy. All this thought took less than a second and still you continued to walk. As soon as you entered the coliseum I saw men armed with swords leap down onto the sand from the transom. They grabbed you and stripped you naked! They started stabbing you! They stabbed you over and over again!
The Holy Man let Amia’s wrist go and she balled up her fists and placed them against her temples squeezing her eyes shut. For a moment she looked exactly like a small and pathetic child trying desperately to block out a painful reality. She spoke through clenched teeth as though the pain was unendurable. The Holy Man gazed at her, his eyes calm. “At the time I did not question why they tore off your clothes but in the million times I have replayed that scene in my mind, I came to realize that there had been a message. It was a plan, designed and executed in such a way as to make us believe that you could never have survived or that you would ever rise again.”
Amia’s voice fell to a sad whisper as she gazed at the memory.
“Your skin was so white in contrast to the brown of your face. The swords went in and blood flowed and sank into the sand leaving a dark red stain almost as fast as it fell. Even as you were dying they kept on stabbing. We were all stunned and shocked into silence. Your blood kept flowing from your wounds. Your head was lowered as you fought for life. And by the time we recovered our wits enough to act, it was too late.”
A sob broke loose from Amia’s throat. “You lay your beautiful head down in the sand and that last breath escaped your body. Until that moment I hadn’t realized how deeply I had fallen in love with you. I would have given anything and everything I owned right then and there to reverse time by a few minutes. I was completely lost and have been ever since. I think every person in that coliseum felt the same way.”
The Holy Man leaned forward intently.
“Then what happened?”
“Before you died you looked up at me and there was a communication there.” Amia balled up her fist and slammed it down hard on the stone alter. “God help me I couldn’t understand! I stared horror filled and watched you go, all hope of Truth dying with your last breath.”
Tears filled Amia’s eyes. This time she didn’t care who could see them. She wiped them gently away and continued.
“But even in pain and even in gore you were beautiful. Your death, as bitter and cruel as it was, was beautiful. The sorrow I felt was unlike any sorrow I have felt before or since and it too was beautiful. You were our last hope and you were gone.”
Amia stared before her with unseeing eyes. Fresh tears had started down her cheeks. She wiped at these impatiently and went on.
“The governor started yelling and hoards came and dragged away the murderers. When silence fell he addressed the crowd. He gave a short speech about how much he had admired you. This gave them time to remove your body. He cried in front of us but part of me knew that this was his doing. He was so afraid that he would lose his power that he had you cut down like a dog in the street and let you die! He knew that this was going to happen because he had set it up!”
Amia paused, calming herself and catching her breath.
“I’ve been over and over this scene in my mind and at first I felt only sorrow…but later I began to feel anger.”
The Holy Man who had been silently listening with his head down, looked up suddenly and Amia went on.
“Because as I went through this incident over and over endlessly in my mind, I noticed something that I had never seen before.”
The Holy Man stared at Amia.
“Just as my attention flicked to the transom before you entered the coliseum…so did yours! You saw those men! You knew that they were there and you walked in anyway!”
The Holy Man stared at the ground. Amia was furiously angry and spit out her words with a vehemence of which she never thought herself capable.
“Why did you do that?! Why did you not turn around and salvage our last little bit of Truth!? Why did you let yourself be led into that trap knowing full well how hungry we were for it!?”
Amia stared at the Holy Man with bitter accusation. She spoke from between clenched teeth spitting the words into his face.
“You’ve been around since then too! I’ve seen you! You’ve always had this Truth and you were the only one who could change anything! That was 10,000 years ago and where were you? What about Hitler? It would have been nice to have seen you then!”
The Holy Man looked up calmly.
“I was a jew.” He said simply.
Amia flushed fiercely and looked down. The Holy man stood up, suddenly furiously angry and unable to contain it. He looked to Amia like a volcano about to erupt. The words exploded from a bitter place deep inside him and Amia was made afraid by the intensity of their fury.
“Do you know what it’s like?! Do you!?” He demanded furiously. “Do you know what it’s like to be the only arc, the only vessel of Truth left on this planet?! Do you know?” He indicated the red scarf he wore. “This Truth has hung like a mantle of stone around my neck century after century, lifetime after lifetime! Because of it people have tortured me and killed me again and again. They have tortured my families and everyone I have ever loved! They have ridiculed me, beaten me, slandered and hated me! I have been followed and still am followed to this day by cowardly people who have a little bit of power and know that I am a threat to it. Because I have Truth!” He spat out the words as if they were acid and burned his tongue. “Truth is not a gift from one man to another! It is an inherent quality in everyone. You know Truth!” His voice fell and he spoke with barely concealed contempt. “Don’t pretend that you don’t!”
The Holy Man took a breath and paused to try and master his emotions. He spoke with forced calm.
“Yes, I knew what was going to happen. I had come to that city and taken the Truth away from your city leaders in whom you had invested it.” He shook his head scornfully. “They were not worthy of it. I knew that I would be killed for it and I knew whence the killing would come. I walked into that coliseum that day with the mantle of Truth upon me. And even when I was stripped naked the Truth was still there. Even as I lay dying the Truth was still there.” His words became more and more urgent. “And on that day I flowed Truth to you with my blood and with my death! I laid that mantle down in the sand with the hope that one of you…YOU would pick it up and bring it forward.” He paused and shook his head slowly. “But no one did. The mantle of Truth lies there today in the still wet blood and still hot sand in that arena untouched by time and attention.” He looked up at Amia. “But it still clings to you and haunts your every moment like the specter of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.” He took the scarf from around his neck and held it out to Amia who frantically dodged his touch. “You cannot escape it.” He said simply.
“And for centuries I’ve watched you dance around it, pray to it, sacrifice to it, and build shrines to it. Hell! I’ve even seen you wail to it.” Amia turned away embarrassed.
“But never once did I see you pick it up and take it as your own.”
“That communication that day went out to every man, woman and child in that coliseum. But you were the one responsible for it because you were the one who received it…And you looked the other way.”
The Holy Man moved much closer to Amia making her more uncomfortable. His voice became angry and urgent.
“Don’t you see that when you invest Truth in someone and save none for yourself, to that degree you become a slave to that person?! I had stolen that investment of Truth from your city leaders and taken it as my own. I had an army of slaves but I didn’t want slaves! For God’s sake, what good are slaves?!” He grabbed Amia’s shoulders and gave them a little shake. “I wanted freedom for you! That’s why I did it! I flowed Truth back to you that day on a tide of my own blood and my last breath. It was a gift that no one accepted! And you turned around and walked the other way! But I knew that that was also a possibility, and I considered it better to leave the perception that Truth had died that day than to leave it in the hands of those so unworthy. That’s how Hitler came about! The people invested him with Truth so much that the most inhumane and barbarous acts were explained away and ignored! Those that were free fought back but we were too few.” The Holy Man sighed as though exhausted. “ Those that had no truth left in themselves became his slaves.”
He paused and looked closely at Amia.
“At that moment that I died in that arena that day, I did look at you and you made a decision at that moment. What was it?”Amia looked up in wild bewilderment.
“No I….No I didn’t!”
The Holy Man raised his voice and angry, pointed his finger accusingly at Amia.
“What was it?!”
Amia stuttered.
“I, I don’t have Truth?!”
“No!” The Holy Man shouted.
“I am not Truth?!”
“No!”
“I don’t know the Truth?!”
The Holy Man balled up his fists in frustration. He took a step toward Amia and she thought he was about to strike her. His voice was uncontrolled fury.
“NO! NO! NO!” He thundered.
Amia broke down.
“I DON’T WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE TRUTH!” she shrieked stunned by her confession but desperately aware that it was correct.
The Holy Man pointed fiercely at Amia knowing that this was correct. Amia burst into tears.
“I don’t want to be responsible for the Truth! I don’t! Look what it did to you! I’m too weak for that! I am too stupid to be trusted with the Truth!”
The Holy Man immediately abandoned his anger and took Amia in his arms. He lifted her chin so that she could look into his eyes. When he spoke it was in soothing tones as though he was speaking to a frightened child.
“I understand.” He said. “ But I will tell you one thing. No matter what is done to me by whom and no matter what happens, I will always be a free man…don’t you see? I’ve never given up responsibility for the Truth. I will never be a slave to any man! Truth should not be a burden! It should be a joy! It should be a relief! But it is a responsibility.”
The Holy Man held Amia and touched his lips to her grimy hair. He spoke softly.
“And the truth is what everybody is searching for but nobody truly wants.”
The Holy Man took off his red scarf and handed it to Amia. She looked up tearfully and tentatively reached out for it. She took it in her hands and looked at the Holy Man who was smiling at her. She smiled back running it across her cheek sensing the feel of the fabric. It felt refreshing, like an old friend whom she had sorely missed for a long time. She reached up and hugged the Holy Man who held her tenderly for a long embrace. He took her chin in his hand and turned her head so that he could speak softly in her ear.
“Please stop degrading yourself.” He said. “Any fool knows you don’t go into battle with your daggers pointing in.”
Slowly the Holy Man untangled himself from her embrace and walked to the edge of the clearing. Amia stared at him surprised. He looked years younger as if a heavy weight that had borne him down for centuries had finally been lifted. He did a quick, light dance step and turned to her smiling. She smiled back and looked around the clearing. It looked so much brighter than it had the few moments before. She closed her eyes and took a long sweet breath savoring the smell of lavender. Time marched forward but she was no longer afraid of pain and death. She turned and perched herself on the upraised stone in the clearing. She looked at Ganesha who appeared to be smiling at her. She laughed a long laugh, hugged Ganesha to her and looked around herself enjoying the view.
The wind was blowing cool as the first hint of fall started to make itself felt. Amia knew it was coming but tried to hold it off as she had the last 200 falls and winters before this. She had been travelling all day and was tired. She looked around the clearing she had stopped in. It was high on a hilltop and afforded a view and thus protection on all sides except the portion blocked by the thatch of trees behind her. The last rays of sun slanted into the clearing making the grass appear fluorescent. The sky was blue with big puffy clouds and there was the smell of warm lavender in the air which was made all the more precious against the chill of the wind and the promise of impending winter.
Since the Apocalypse 200 years ago, fall took on a much more ominous tone as the harbinger of winter with its harsh and brutal cold, precious little shelter and barely any food worth eating. Amia was in her 38th year and felt the familiar sensations of approaching old age. She knew that it started with aching joints and failing eyesight and hearing, so subtle that it was almost unnoticeable. This would inevitably, slowly progress into a state of almost complete helplessness, and lacking the co-support of a group or family, would result in death by debilitation and thus starvation or the swift and relatively kind end of being devoured or killed by animals or humans, whichever was first to discover her helplessness.
Amia came from a race of immortals who found in the carnal death, no break in consciousness. Memories did not die with the body but were as fresh as the day they were formed even when waking from the sleep of death into a new baby’s body. She was one of a small handful of these immortals who found their way to planet earth back in the year 500 BC. They had made a pact with each other that they would continue here until they could figure out a way to end the suffering of earth’s people. Since then Amia had lived, grown old and died many times trapped here on a planet with its wars, suffering and endlessly repeating cycles of destruction, that, despite the centuries of trying to understand, made no sense to her whatsoever.
Amia recalled her days tens of thousands of years prior to her trip to earth. She had been much more powerful and godlike. Her words were cast in stone and prophesies came true without any counter consideration. She simply said something and it was true. She could make lightening appear from her fingertips and, in fact had used this skill to entertain herself on more than one occasion. Life was relatively simple even as short a while ago as the 1300s. Whenever she spotted an unjust action among humans, she would right the wrongs simply by stating the correct outcome. This was a relatively simple and fun game until she began to notice that sometimes, unbelievably, she was wrong in her assessment and unwittingly hurt those she was trying to protect. With that doubt, her godlike powers diminished. And with the diminishment of her powers, the unsettling dream began.
Each successive lifetime seemed to sap her spiritual strength more and more until she started to consider herself more human and less like a god. She wondered when she would submit to the inevitability of death and wake up thinking that this was the first time she had ever lived. She knew that that too was coming and she would be trapped forever having forgotten the reason she came here in the first place and the fact that she could leave any time. With each successive lifetime, the dream became more frequent and intense until it was an inexorable and painful part of her sleep.
Amia had long since lost her faith in gods. This faith had been strong in her as long as she considered herself one of them. Now, in her quasi-human form, her faith had gone from a strongly formed and forged Truth to a vague, wispy and frail concept that she worried would soon disappear forever.
In the shocking few days after the Apocalypse, Amia had stumbled unfeeling and unthinking into a ruined Indian shrine. Among the rubble she had found there had been a small stone idol of the elephant god Ganesha. Although she had held humans and their beliefs at arm’s length, Amia had not turned a blind eye or deaf ear to discussions of their various gods. These she had studied in secret looking for clues to the meaning of human life. Many of the gods had been a bitter disappointment. They had contained all of the worst human attributes and were revered by humans who wanted to destroy but not be responsible for that destruction. In Ganesha, she had found the most worthy attributes. She had also found that those who had embraced Ganesha and attempted to embody those attributes had been the happiest and most successful in life, up until the Holocaust which rendered everything more or less meaningless.
Nonetheless, Amia coveted this elephant headed idol and when she felt impending death, she squirreled it away somewhere safe until, 10 years later she would have a body capable of finding it again.
Amia looked around her. She had the unsettling feeling that there was someone out there who was aware of her presence. The trees moved gently with the wind and the sun inched its way across the sky. The grass in the clearing danced its autumn dance but other than that, she perceived no motion. Yet, the feeling persisted.
Amia sifted through the items in her leather pouch. The pouch with its meager contents, her broadsword, and the clothes on her back were the only possessions Amia now had and they traveled with her as she moved from place to place like a shadow walking gingerly on cat’s paws. Amia looked at herself in a shard of mirrored glass that she carried with her. She was thin, almost to the point of emaciation. Her dark halo of black hair formed angry curls around her chiseled face. Her boots were so worn that she could feel the ground through them and she would definitely need to procure a new set of woolen tights as the ones she was wearing would not make it through another winter. The metal belt she wore hung heavily around her waist and was starting to chafe on her bones.
Amia unfolded her colored scarf and draped it deftly and reverently on a stone next to the clearing. She unwrapped Ganesha and placed him lovingly on top of the scarf. This was Amia’s every day routine.
Slowly she unsheathed her sword and with slow and deliberate movements went into her ritual that was half a dance of worship and half martial art. This routine had been her stability every day since the Apocalypse. It kept her strength and flexibility up and was absolutely necessary to survival in this barbarian, post-apocalyptic existence. The drums of her universe beat inside her head. She concentrated on the sound and her movements were perfectly matched to them. Very lightly through her concentration, she perceived the being nearby. He was close but not stalking. She closed her eyes to assist her perception and she kept on with the movements to the drums. The being was watching her. She turned as per her routine with her eyes still closed. If this was an invader, he would surely strike but he remained motionless. She could feel his eyes burning into her as though they were face to face. Amia toyed with this being. She could kill him instantly if he were human. Still he remained. Suddenly Amia had the disconcerting feeling that he was reading her thoughts. Enraged by the mere thought of this, Amia, her eyes still closed, slashed down at him with her sword. Instantly, the sword was blocked by the upraised sword of the stranger.
Although Amia had perceived him with her eyes closed, she had perceived absolutely no motion. It was as though the sword had just appeared there in his hand blocking her most powerful movement. Amia, shocked, opened her eyes and looked into the calm eyes of the stranger. Angrier she picked up her sword and struck again. Before she could even place her blade for the movement, he was there blocking it. He was inhumanly quick. Amia stared, fearful and unbelieving. There was something vaguely familiar about him and she searched her mind for comprehension. The body was different. It was the body of a mature and muscular male…but the being was someone she knew. The clothes he wore gave no clue as to his identity. They were simple and colorless except for the bright red scarf he wore around his neck. The dream flashed before her eyes and, try as she might, Amia could not banish it to the edges of her consciousness as she had so many times before. It was as though the stranger held it there in front of her face forcing her to look at it. Amia felt a surge of unreasoning fury and disengaged her sword bringing it down and around trying to slash at him from the side. Again he was there blocking.
Amia raised her sword again and again slashing at the stranger, her fury mounting with each thwarted strike. In a horrifying flash it dawned on Amia that she was the one being toyed with. He was playing with her as a cat plays with an injured bird. She was sure that when he tired of this game, he would end her life and she would be powerless to stop him. Almost imperceptibly, Amia felt rather than saw anger surge through his body. Her fear deepened as he continued to engage her. She knew her death was imminent and thought that at the very least she would make him work for his victory.
Her arms were weakening and her movements were becoming more grossly inaccurate. The thought came to her that perhaps this was a blessing. A relatively quick death now would save her from the agony of slow and painful deterioration for the next few decades.
As soon as the thought was formed in her mind, Amia’s foot slipped slightly. It was barely discernable but the stranger perceived it and instantly pressed home his advantage. Amia fell back and struck her head hard on the ground. Briefly she lost consciousness. With relief she thought that she would not be in her body when he finished her off.
As she came back to herself, she realized that she was still alive. A shiver ran down the middle of her back. The arrogant bastard! He waited for her to return so that he could force her to suffer the pain and agony of yet another death! Her eyes were closed but she felt the hardness of cold steel placed against her throat. Slowly the blade moved up and down caressing her neck. She opened one eye slightly and saw that he was standing over her, straddling her and holding the heavy broadsword as though it were weightless.
When he saw her open her eye, he moved the blade slowly down the neckline of her tunic and caressed the hollow between her breasts. Amia had been through this many times but the physical manifestations of terror always threatened to overwhelm her. Her body was shaking, her eyelids fluttered and her limbs went numb in a vain effort to mask the intense pain that was due any moment. Amia took her last breath and lifted her chin willing the stranger to thrust the blade home. She waited. The blade continued tracing unending and inexorable circles on her chest.
Amia opened her eyes and looked at him. He saw her respond and immediately stepped off walking over to the makeshift altar that Amia had placed there moments before.
“Really Amia!” He said. “I expected so much more of you!”
Amia lifted herself up onto her elbows struggling to understand what was occurring. Her arms were still shaking from effort and fear. Immediately a surge of pain sliced through her head and a wave of nausea threatened to overtake her. She gagged and closed her eyes willing the wave to pass. The stranger watched her shaking his head in scorn at her weakness. Slowly her breathing returned to normal and the fear that had been with her suddenly turned to an anger, the intensity of which she had never felt before.
She got up, shoved her sword in her scabbard and stalked over to the altar where the stranger was standing. She reached across him to grab Ganesha and with an impossibly quick movement he reached out and grabbed her wrist. She struggled but he held her fast and twisted her to him. She looked up into his face and memories and recognition flooded in overwhelming her and making her head swim. Instantly it dawned on her that she was staring into the half-forgotten, angry eyes of the Holy Man.
“Where have you been? I’ve been searching for you for centuries.” She gasped, knowing that he knew it was a lie.
The stranger smiled. “I’ve been around. I’ve been in your head mostly.” He laughed softly, almost cruelly. “I’ve been hanging out in your dreams.”
Amia bridled. “My dreams?” “A lot you know about my dreams!”
“I know about them, one in particular, why don’t you tell me about it?”
Amia sneered.
“What, idle chatter to pass an idle day? No thanks, some things are better left forgotten!”
The Holy Man persisted.
“Tell me about the dream you have been having.”
Amia’s nerve failed and she became petulant.
“Why? You seem to already know about it! You can stay here and figure it out. I have better things to do.”
Amia turned with every intention of storming away into the brush but the Holy Man held her fast. The pressure of his fingers was hurting her wrist and Amia tried hard to master her anger.
“No, you will stay” The Holy Man said sharply. “Tell me about your dream.”
Amia turned. “It was a long time ago! Why go over it now?”
“Because it is still fresh and it still tortures you. Tell me about your dream.”
Amia dropped her head resigned. “It’s not a dream. It’s a memory.”
“Tell me about your memory.”
Amia’s anger flared again could no longer be contained. Even as she was expressing it she was surprised and afraid at the intensity of it.
“It happened 10,000 years ago! Why do you want me to go over it again? You were there you know exactly what happened!”
The Holy Man was unmoved by Amia’s anger and continued.
“I want you to tell me.”
Amia was defeated. She knew that he would win any battle of wills. This stranger, this Holy Man had been on this planet as long as she had and miraculously had not seemed to lose any of his godlike powers. Amia was meek and embarrassed at her weakened state. She also knew that he knew her thoroughly. Many thousands of years ago they had been student and teacher, brothers, sisters, priest and neophyte, even lovers several times on this snaky track of existence. He had moved in and out of her unbroken existence leaving a large hole each time he had done so. Deny it as she might, she loved this man fiercely. Overcome, she weakly related her memory.
“I lived in a city. It was a city constantly besieged by rebel forces. Each time they were successful, the new city leaders would promise us hope, salvation and Truth. I was the son of a rich man then. I was young and beautiful.” Amia smiled at the memory of her perfect man-child body with its deep brown eyes, perfect face and long glossy black hair. She again felt the touch of her fine clothes and the smell of the fragrant oils she used to wear. Her future had been bright with the promise that comes with great beauty. She glared angrily at her grime stained hands and emaciated legs. “Not like I’ve become, grizzled and degraded, eating rats just to survive!”
Amia sighed and stared into the distance.
“We looked to our city leaders for Truth but all they offered us were lies and betrayal. We had given up hope of ever finding it. We just wanted to know who we were, what were we doing there and most of all, were we good people?”
Amia looked up at the Holy Man and smiled somewhat insolently.
“Then you came. You waltzed in like an evening breeze. Right into a city besieged by turmoil and you were oil on troubled waters. Things immediately calmed down. We came to your lectures and the Truth you gave us pierced right through our defenses and made us cry at the simplicity of it. It was as though it had been there the entire time and we were just too blind to see it.”
Amia paused. What she had to say next was very personal and she wondered if it was still safe with this man to let her defenses down so uncharacteristically. She took a breath and resumed.
“At one point I stepped forward to speak with you and you opened your arms to me and walked toward me as if you had been looking for me forever and had finally found me. You took my hands in yours and looked into my eyes. I looked back and saw such perfect love and understanding that I was overwhelmed. I had never felt love so pure and unconditional as I had that day 10,000 years ago or since then. I have never forgotten it.” Amia paused and whispered. “I have never recovered from it.”
The Holy Man’s manner softened. “Nor have I.”
Amia looked up, embarrassed and tearful at the tender moment and pleaded “Why do you make me relive it?!”
The Holy Man responded gently “because it is necessary.”
Amia took a deep breath and haltingly continued with her story.
“There was a lecture, out in the coliseum. The whole town was there. You had promised us more Truth that day and we were so thirsty for it…I’ll never forget that day. I had a seat in the front row and I can still feel the heat of the sun on my neck and the glow of anticipation I felt. It’s as though it were yesterday. I made a point of remembering every detail of the surroundings and the emotions of those present. I knew this would be a momentous occasion.”
Amia struggled against the lump that was starting to form in her throat. It was the same choking ball of emotion that accompanied the dream night after night and woke her each morning with tears running freely making white rivers down through the ever-present grime on her face. She was embarrassed that she might slip and the Holy Man might see these tears and guess at the profound sadness behind them. To Amia, tears were a weakness and she had learned in this world that hiding weakness was one of the cardinal rules of survival.
“I don’t want to go on!” She said angrily. “What’s done is done! What’s lost cannot be salvaged!”
“If what’s lost is part of you, it can be salvaged.” The Holy Man said gently. “Please, continue.”
The dream flooded back to Amia as she started to speak. The years rolled away. It was as though the actions were taking place in the present right in front of her eyes. She blinked in an attempt to avoid the images but they enveloped her.
“The governor took the stage. It was a raised stone stage with a large arch over it. Beneath it was yellow sand that reflected the sunlight. He stood there with his hands outstretched like Jesus on a cross. The sand reflected up onto him like a divine light creating a halo around him. He looked like some religious painting. He remained in that position for awhile until we were cognizant of only him. The crowd leaned forward in anticipation and then he yelled out your name. I held my breath and leaned forward too. Through the arched entryway next to the stage, you advanced toward us. It took a long time for you to walk that path up to the stage but we watched your every move. You were smiling and looked eager to be with us.”
Amia shook her head. She was agitated and it lent her voice an urgency. Her words came faster as she continued.
“As you walked slowly approaching the archway, I saw a movement in the transom above the arch. My attention went there and stuck. I immediately felt a heavy foreboding! I tried to convince myself that I had been wrong but the feeling grew stronger as you walked closer. I wanted to yell out to you but I didn’t know what to yell! I thought I must be crazy. All this thought took less than a second and still you continued to walk. As soon as you entered the coliseum I saw men armed with swords leap down onto the sand from the transom. They grabbed you and stripped you naked! They started stabbing you! They stabbed you over and over again!
The Holy Man let Amia’s wrist go and she balled up her fists and placed them against her temples squeezing her eyes shut. For a moment she looked exactly like a small and pathetic child trying desperately to block out a painful reality. She spoke through clenched teeth as though the pain was unendurable. The Holy Man gazed at her, his eyes calm. “At the time I did not question why they tore off your clothes but in the million times I have replayed that scene in my mind, I came to realize that there had been a message. It was a plan, designed and executed in such a way as to make us believe that you could never have survived or that you would ever rise again.”
Amia’s voice fell to a sad whisper as she gazed at the memory.
“Your skin was so white in contrast to the brown of your face. The swords went in and blood flowed and sank into the sand leaving a dark red stain almost as fast as it fell. Even as you were dying they kept on stabbing. We were all stunned and shocked into silence. Your blood kept flowing from your wounds. Your head was lowered as you fought for life. And by the time we recovered our wits enough to act, it was too late.”
A sob broke loose from Amia’s throat. “You lay your beautiful head down in the sand and that last breath escaped your body. Until that moment I hadn’t realized how deeply I had fallen in love with you. I would have given anything and everything I owned right then and there to reverse time by a few minutes. I was completely lost and have been ever since. I think every person in that coliseum felt the same way.”
The Holy Man leaned forward intently.
“Then what happened?”
“Before you died you looked up at me and there was a communication there.” Amia balled up her fist and slammed it down hard on the stone alter. “God help me I couldn’t understand! I stared horror filled and watched you go, all hope of Truth dying with your last breath.”
Tears filled Amia’s eyes. This time she didn’t care who could see them. She wiped them gently away and continued.
“But even in pain and even in gore you were beautiful. Your death, as bitter and cruel as it was, was beautiful. The sorrow I felt was unlike any sorrow I have felt before or since and it too was beautiful. You were our last hope and you were gone.”
Amia stared before her with unseeing eyes. Fresh tears had started down her cheeks. She wiped at these impatiently and went on.
“The governor started yelling and hoards came and dragged away the murderers. When silence fell he addressed the crowd. He gave a short speech about how much he had admired you. This gave them time to remove your body. He cried in front of us but part of me knew that this was his doing. He was so afraid that he would lose his power that he had you cut down like a dog in the street and let you die! He knew that this was going to happen because he had set it up!”
Amia paused, calming herself and catching her breath.
“I’ve been over and over this scene in my mind and at first I felt only sorrow…but later I began to feel anger.”
The Holy Man who had been silently listening with his head down, looked up suddenly and Amia went on.
“Because as I went through this incident over and over endlessly in my mind, I noticed something that I had never seen before.”
The Holy Man stared at Amia.
“Just as my attention flicked to the transom before you entered the coliseum…so did yours! You saw those men! You knew that they were there and you walked in anyway!”
The Holy Man stared at the ground. Amia was furiously angry and spit out her words with a vehemence of which she never thought herself capable.
“Why did you do that?! Why did you not turn around and salvage our last little bit of Truth!? Why did you let yourself be led into that trap knowing full well how hungry we were for it!?”
Amia stared at the Holy Man with bitter accusation. She spoke from between clenched teeth spitting the words into his face.
“You’ve been around since then too! I’ve seen you! You’ve always had this Truth and you were the only one who could change anything! That was 10,000 years ago and where were you? What about Hitler? It would have been nice to have seen you then!”
The Holy Man looked up calmly.
“I was a jew.” He said simply.
Amia flushed fiercely and looked down. The Holy man stood up, suddenly furiously angry and unable to contain it. He looked to Amia like a volcano about to erupt. The words exploded from a bitter place deep inside him and Amia was made afraid by the intensity of their fury.
“Do you know what it’s like?! Do you!?” He demanded furiously. “Do you know what it’s like to be the only arc, the only vessel of Truth left on this planet?! Do you know?” He indicated the red scarf he wore. “This Truth has hung like a mantle of stone around my neck century after century, lifetime after lifetime! Because of it people have tortured me and killed me again and again. They have tortured my families and everyone I have ever loved! They have ridiculed me, beaten me, slandered and hated me! I have been followed and still am followed to this day by cowardly people who have a little bit of power and know that I am a threat to it. Because I have Truth!” He spat out the words as if they were acid and burned his tongue. “Truth is not a gift from one man to another! It is an inherent quality in everyone. You know Truth!” His voice fell and he spoke with barely concealed contempt. “Don’t pretend that you don’t!”
The Holy Man took a breath and paused to try and master his emotions. He spoke with forced calm.
“Yes, I knew what was going to happen. I had come to that city and taken the Truth away from your city leaders in whom you had invested it.” He shook his head scornfully. “They were not worthy of it. I knew that I would be killed for it and I knew whence the killing would come. I walked into that coliseum that day with the mantle of Truth upon me. And even when I was stripped naked the Truth was still there. Even as I lay dying the Truth was still there.” His words became more and more urgent. “And on that day I flowed Truth to you with my blood and with my death! I laid that mantle down in the sand with the hope that one of you…YOU would pick it up and bring it forward.” He paused and shook his head slowly. “But no one did. The mantle of Truth lies there today in the still wet blood and still hot sand in that arena untouched by time and attention.” He looked up at Amia. “But it still clings to you and haunts your every moment like the specter of the four horsemen of the Apocalypse.” He took the scarf from around his neck and held it out to Amia who frantically dodged his touch. “You cannot escape it.” He said simply.
“And for centuries I’ve watched you dance around it, pray to it, sacrifice to it, and build shrines to it. Hell! I’ve even seen you wail to it.” Amia turned away embarrassed.
“But never once did I see you pick it up and take it as your own.”
“That communication that day went out to every man, woman and child in that coliseum. But you were the one responsible for it because you were the one who received it…And you looked the other way.”
The Holy Man moved much closer to Amia making her more uncomfortable. His voice became angry and urgent.
“Don’t you see that when you invest Truth in someone and save none for yourself, to that degree you become a slave to that person?! I had stolen that investment of Truth from your city leaders and taken it as my own. I had an army of slaves but I didn’t want slaves! For God’s sake, what good are slaves?!” He grabbed Amia’s shoulders and gave them a little shake. “I wanted freedom for you! That’s why I did it! I flowed Truth back to you that day on a tide of my own blood and my last breath. It was a gift that no one accepted! And you turned around and walked the other way! But I knew that that was also a possibility, and I considered it better to leave the perception that Truth had died that day than to leave it in the hands of those so unworthy. That’s how Hitler came about! The people invested him with Truth so much that the most inhumane and barbarous acts were explained away and ignored! Those that were free fought back but we were too few.” The Holy Man sighed as though exhausted. “ Those that had no truth left in themselves became his slaves.”
He paused and looked closely at Amia.
“At that moment that I died in that arena that day, I did look at you and you made a decision at that moment. What was it?”Amia looked up in wild bewilderment.
“No I….No I didn’t!”
The Holy Man raised his voice and angry, pointed his finger accusingly at Amia.
“What was it?!”
Amia stuttered.
“I, I don’t have Truth?!”
“No!” The Holy Man shouted.
“I am not Truth?!”
“No!”
“I don’t know the Truth?!”
The Holy Man balled up his fists in frustration. He took a step toward Amia and she thought he was about to strike her. His voice was uncontrolled fury.
“NO! NO! NO!” He thundered.
Amia broke down.
“I DON’T WANT TO BE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE TRUTH!” she shrieked stunned by her confession but desperately aware that it was correct.
The Holy Man pointed fiercely at Amia knowing that this was correct. Amia burst into tears.
“I don’t want to be responsible for the Truth! I don’t! Look what it did to you! I’m too weak for that! I am too stupid to be trusted with the Truth!”
The Holy Man immediately abandoned his anger and took Amia in his arms. He lifted her chin so that she could look into his eyes. When he spoke it was in soothing tones as though he was speaking to a frightened child.
“I understand.” He said. “ But I will tell you one thing. No matter what is done to me by whom and no matter what happens, I will always be a free man…don’t you see? I’ve never given up responsibility for the Truth. I will never be a slave to any man! Truth should not be a burden! It should be a joy! It should be a relief! But it is a responsibility.”
The Holy Man held Amia and touched his lips to her grimy hair. He spoke softly.
“And the truth is what everybody is searching for but nobody truly wants.”
The Holy Man took off his red scarf and handed it to Amia. She looked up tearfully and tentatively reached out for it. She took it in her hands and looked at the Holy Man who was smiling at her. She smiled back running it across her cheek sensing the feel of the fabric. It felt refreshing, like an old friend whom she had sorely missed for a long time. She reached up and hugged the Holy Man who held her tenderly for a long embrace. He took her chin in his hand and turned her head so that he could speak softly in her ear.
“Please stop degrading yourself.” He said. “Any fool knows you don’t go into battle with your daggers pointing in.”
Slowly the Holy Man untangled himself from her embrace and walked to the edge of the clearing. Amia stared at him surprised. He looked years younger as if a heavy weight that had borne him down for centuries had finally been lifted. He did a quick, light dance step and turned to her smiling. She smiled back and looked around the clearing. It looked so much brighter than it had the few moments before. She closed her eyes and took a long sweet breath savoring the smell of lavender. Time marched forward but she was no longer afraid of pain and death. She turned and perched herself on the upraised stone in the clearing. She looked at Ganesha who appeared to be smiling at her. She laughed a long laugh, hugged Ganesha to her and looked around herself enjoying the view.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
MR. "PIE ARE SQUARED"
Hello Diary!
Today, while studying my Real Estate course I came across a chapter that goes over real estate math and in short, it is the math I have spent most of my early and adult life desperately trying to avoid. There was nothing for it now but to buckle down and figure it all out. While thus studying, once again I came upon my old nemesis, "PIE ARE SQUARED". Now I have had disagreements with Mr. "PIE ARE SQUARED" for a long time simply because any fool can see just by looking that "PIE ARE ROUND", They were born round, they live round and they remain round until the day they die or are eaten, whichever is the more appropriate terminology when we talk about pie passing. I can and will stipulate to "CAKE ARE SQUARED" but that is a completely different equation.
Anyway, having decided that I could stipulate to "PIE ARE SQUARED" solely for the sake of arguement and hypotheticals, I ho'ed forth to the kitchen to test out this "PIE ARE SQUARED" theory. I pulled a pie out of the fridge that I was saving for company and inspected it. I Noticed again that "PIE ARE ROUND" but remembered my previous stipulation and let it go. I then measured the DIAMETER of the pie paying close attention to its flaky, buttery and delicious crust. I then cut the DIAMETER in half and ate it leaving the RADIUS. I then multiplied the RADIUS by 3.1416 (what ever that is) and found the area of the pie prior to the point where I had eatened half of its DIAMETER.(The eating of the DIAMETER was important because I did not want it encroaching on the other DIAMETERS thus throwing off my painstaking calculations.) Sure enough! I had the AREA of my pie and have proven that (in theory only of course because it is a lie like all math) that "PIE ARE SQUARED"! I called Little into the room and such was our excitement that we ate the remaining AREA of the pie as well a it's HEIGHT and WIDTH and licked up all the crumbs. Little and I agree that practical application can sometimes be the difference between using information (Which I plan to do tomorrow when I calculate the area of a cake thus proving the formula "CAKE ARE SQUARED" as well as this one) and just taking things on faith. There is nothing like a tummy full of pie to really get a concept home. Little and I also agree that math may not be great for weight loss, what with all the practical application et. al. but it is seriously good for Pi lovers!
See you next time Diary!
Today, while studying my Real Estate course I came across a chapter that goes over real estate math and in short, it is the math I have spent most of my early and adult life desperately trying to avoid. There was nothing for it now but to buckle down and figure it all out. While thus studying, once again I came upon my old nemesis, "PIE ARE SQUARED". Now I have had disagreements with Mr. "PIE ARE SQUARED" for a long time simply because any fool can see just by looking that "PIE ARE ROUND", They were born round, they live round and they remain round until the day they die or are eaten, whichever is the more appropriate terminology when we talk about pie passing. I can and will stipulate to "CAKE ARE SQUARED" but that is a completely different equation.
Anyway, having decided that I could stipulate to "PIE ARE SQUARED" solely for the sake of arguement and hypotheticals, I ho'ed forth to the kitchen to test out this "PIE ARE SQUARED" theory. I pulled a pie out of the fridge that I was saving for company and inspected it. I Noticed again that "PIE ARE ROUND" but remembered my previous stipulation and let it go. I then measured the DIAMETER of the pie paying close attention to its flaky, buttery and delicious crust. I then cut the DIAMETER in half and ate it leaving the RADIUS. I then multiplied the RADIUS by 3.1416 (what ever that is) and found the area of the pie prior to the point where I had eatened half of its DIAMETER.(The eating of the DIAMETER was important because I did not want it encroaching on the other DIAMETERS thus throwing off my painstaking calculations.) Sure enough! I had the AREA of my pie and have proven that (in theory only of course because it is a lie like all math) that "PIE ARE SQUARED"! I called Little into the room and such was our excitement that we ate the remaining AREA of the pie as well a it's HEIGHT and WIDTH and licked up all the crumbs. Little and I agree that practical application can sometimes be the difference between using information (Which I plan to do tomorrow when I calculate the area of a cake thus proving the formula "CAKE ARE SQUARED" as well as this one) and just taking things on faith. There is nothing like a tummy full of pie to really get a concept home. Little and I also agree that math may not be great for weight loss, what with all the practical application et. al. but it is seriously good for Pi lovers!
See you next time Diary!
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Bella Italia!
Good Morning Diary!
As you know, I am on an Italian kick! As recently divulged, I have come out as a transnational being an Italian trapped in a northern european body. This realization caused much desired order in my tumbled universe and much of my early life started to make sense. I had questions that haunted me for decades, questions like "If I'm so gosh darned Swedish how come I hate the cold?" and "Why do I love fava beans?". With this in mind I have been planning my trip to Italy and doing tons of research. Much of my research has been in the form of picking the brains of my good friend Flavia who is also my nutritionist. Flavia is, of course Italian and one of the best. I believe everything she tells me therefore no one was more surprised than me when she told me that Italian men love big butts! This was a revelation! I immediatley called my sister and told her I plan to grow mine out, walk down the streets of southern Italy and start a riot. Its on! Little may or may not be with me depending on how arduous the trip is for dogs. I understand it is very stressful so he may be staying with a sitter. Italy awaits!!!!!
As you know, I am on an Italian kick! As recently divulged, I have come out as a transnational being an Italian trapped in a northern european body. This realization caused much desired order in my tumbled universe and much of my early life started to make sense. I had questions that haunted me for decades, questions like "If I'm so gosh darned Swedish how come I hate the cold?" and "Why do I love fava beans?". With this in mind I have been planning my trip to Italy and doing tons of research. Much of my research has been in the form of picking the brains of my good friend Flavia who is also my nutritionist. Flavia is, of course Italian and one of the best. I believe everything she tells me therefore no one was more surprised than me when she told me that Italian men love big butts! This was a revelation! I immediatley called my sister and told her I plan to grow mine out, walk down the streets of southern Italy and start a riot. Its on! Little may or may not be with me depending on how arduous the trip is for dogs. I understand it is very stressful so he may be staying with a sitter. Italy awaits!!!!!
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