On how I really don’t know what I’m talking about – the seeking of inspiration, ‘active knowing’, and character

I’ve always said that I really don’t know what I’m talking about. 

This is true. 

Most of what I say is not really what “I” think.  This is because most of what I say comes from what I call ‘inspiration’.  This means, basically, that it comes from ‘nowhere’.  I say what comes to me ‘off the top of my head’.   A great deal of my thoughts come out without any prior reflection at all.  Often, it seems that they are coming from somewhere else and I am only the ‘medium’ of its expression.   It’s not uncommon that I have no idea what they mean.  In fact, it can take me awhile to find the meaning in the thoughts.  I always thought that odd, having to “learn” the meaning in my own thoughts.

It shows that “I” often don’t know what I’m saying.

In many ways, I’ve found myself taking a similar view as Socrates who said that “I know that I do not know”.  Though me and Socrates have a similar point of view, we go about it from opposite ends.  He uses logic and reasoning to show that we don’t know what we think we know.  Much of what he did is to show other people that he really did not know what they think they knew.  This eventually became the ‘Socratic method’. 

I, on the other hand, don’t use logic or reasoning at all.  By seeking ‘inspiration’ I let things come out as they come out, in whatever form they come out, regardless of logic or reason.  As a result, there is no logic or reason at all.  I do not “make” a logic or reasoning in what I say.  Usually, you would think that thinking ‘off the top of my head’, without any logic or reasoning, would lead to things that are ‘random’ or nonsensical or babble.  I have found that this is not the case.  They have an order, a logic, and a reason in themselves that as if comes out naturally without any effort on my part.  This is part of the power of ‘inspiration’.  In other words, the logic or reason just “is” and the order just “happens”, as if by a natural order.  

Instead of using reasoning to find the order, as Socrates did, I actually have to ’sense’ the order and let it come naturally.  What ends up happening is not a ‘logical discovery’ but a ‘realization’.  This makes it so that “I” do not create it or come up with it . . . the thoughts just happen, the order just happens. 

‘SENSING’ THE ORDER

Anyone can say what comes to them ‘off the top of their head’ but ‘sensing’ the order is something else.  That’s a skill that one has to attain.  In a way, ‘sensing’ the order is everything in ‘inspiration’.  Without it, there is no ‘inspiration’. 

It seems that there are two ways to ‘sense’ the order:

1. Intuitively.  Here, a ‘something’ tells you there is an order.  Typically, it is an unspoken ‘sense’, without words or logic . . . you just ‘know’. 
2. Logically.  Here, you logically see an order.  This usually requires a ‘reasoning’ of sorts.  I consider this to be inferior to the intuitive sense.

I tend to feel that the intuitive sense is what one really seeks in ‘inspiration’ and is where all the fruit is gained.  The logical sense is something that comes ‘after’ the intuitive sense, making logic take on a more secondary role.  In the end, though, both are needed, but the intuitive sense is the beginning of it all and the source of all the material one gains.

The general idea is to let the ’sense’ move you.  Like a dog, once you find the ‘scent’ you follow it.  As a result, much of this is nothing but following a lead generally without a clue to where its going or whats at the end.  Often, ‘hunches’ or ‘feelings’ are what dictate where one goes, even though it may defy logic and common sense. 

I often feel this continual ‘walking into blackness’ takes far more courage than people realize.  In fact, I feel this would halt many people in their track, though they may not realize it, and is a major wall that would be confronted.  The apprehension of walking into blackness can cause a number of reactions and dilemma’s that can cause much turmoil and conflict, such as:

• Feeling empty
• Being bored
• Bringing up unpleasant feelings
• Fear 

These can stop a person in their tracks.  These are common reactions to the seeking of ‘inspiration’.  As a general rule, any logic or reasoning does nothing to solve these problems.  Often, they appear as a sign to ‘look deeper’, often into areas we don’t want to see or are apprehensive about.  The ‘looking deeper’ can require great courage and strength to surpass.  These show how ‘inspiration’ becomes a “great inner inquiry” into oneself . . . making it a far difficult task than what it may, at first, seem.

THE IMPORTANCE OF THE ‘REVEALING PROCESS’

In the end, Socrates logic and my ‘inspiration’ ends up leading to a ‘knowing’ of sorts.  Both of us started with “I know that I do not know” but ended up with a something “known”, a “particular form of knowing”.  But, more importantly, what we find is that it is the process that becomes important, not the end result.  This fact seems to be forgotten with Socrates, as everyone is usually only emphasizing the result of the process.  In actuaLity, it is the process that’s important.  In other words, what we are seeing is a process which shows that the process of revealing the “knowing” is more important than the knowing itself.  The whole ‘Socratic method’ is based in this act, this revealing.  This is what made Socrates so ‘profound’.  The end result, in a way, was nothing but the ‘by product’ of the process.  This is no different with ‘inspiration’, that the process of revealing is more important than the end result. 

ACTIVE AND PASSIVE KNOWING

Once the process of revealing has been achieved there is a ”particular form of knowing” which comes about as a result.  There seems to be two forms of “knowing” that comes about:

1. Negative knowing – Knowing that I do not know. 
2. Positive knowing – Knowing something as a result of the process of revealing. 

The former, really, is the awareness that there is so much beyond us, that there are things above us.  As a result, it is sort of spiritual in context, leading to a spiritual sense.  It is very general in quality.  Positive knowing is the specific knowing that the revealing reveals.  As a result, it is very specific and particularistic.  So we can see that the revealing creates a spectrum of “knowing” from general to specific, unknown to known. 

“Learning”, in this society, is generally viewed as a process of going from negative knowing to positive knowing.  When this happens the negative knowing as if disappears, ceases to exist.  In other words, it’s generally taken that we want to move from negative knowing to positive knowing exclusively.  As a result, negative knowing (or not knowing or being dumb or stupid) is looked at in a bad light.  I have always felt that this was silly.  In many ways, it leaves half the picture out. In many ways, it shows that there is a unique quality about ‘knowing’, that it’s not enough to just ‘know’ things . . . there’s more to it. 

I speak of the process of revealing as ‘active knowing’, that knowing is an active process, something discovered, as an active and on going process.   In other words, ‘knowing’ is the active act of revealing.  This makes it experiential, something that is happening.  As a result, ‘active knowing’ is momentary and fleeting.  Because of this we continually seek this ‘active knowing’, the momentary act of “knowing”.  This process is going on endlessly.

‘Passive knowing’ is just ‘knowing’ something, like memorization.  In many respects, it is ‘dead’ and inanimate.  You can bring it up like looking up a phone number in a phone book.  It is static, as if sitting there, and is constant.  It is not discovered or revealed.  Because ‘passive knowing’ is ‘dead’ it is often worn like an ornament, and people often ”decorate” themselves with it.  It is not uncommon that people will use ‘passive knowing’ to convince others, and themselves, that they are ‘learned’ and many people equate it with ‘educated’.  As a general rule, ‘passive knowing’ is what consists of ‘education’ in this society.

The difference between active and passive forms of knowing are often seen in some of the expressions I use, such as:

• When I speak or think of things I often remark that “they are just thoughts”.  That, of course, is said after I have said them, generally on reflection.  Once they are “said” they become ‘passive’ and, therefore, ‘dead’.  This is why I speak of them as “just thoughts”. 
• I also say that the thoughts, that I write down, are nothing but “the footprints of my thoughts”.  That is to say, they are whats left over after something has ‘gone by’.  This is just another way of saying they are ‘passive’.

These show that I tend to look down on passively knowing something.  Once you just ‘know’ something (passive knowing) it becomes degraded-like.  This is because it’s an inferior form of knowing or that’s how I tend to see it.  

“Real knowing”, it seems to me, happens when they come to me as an active experience.  When this happens the thoughts are ‘alive’ and ‘living’, they have just ‘come into being’ and are ‘real’.  It’s when this happens that certain things can happen:

• A profoundness can take place.
• A realization can take place.
• A transformation can take place.
• An alteration in conception can take place.

It is in the state of ‘activeness’ that the ‘power of knowing’ takes place.  It can change a person.  This fact is what makes active knowing so powerful.  This is because ‘active knowing’ is a becoming, a creation.  ‘Passive knowing’ is like a recitation or remembering.

Of course, we all need an element of ‘passive knowing’.  When reflecting or thinking about things I have to use ‘passive knowing’ . . . it’s often a beginning . . . but it’s not the end.  ‘Passive knowing’ is like a reservoir and that is all, a place to draw things from.  It is something you use.  In other words, ‘passive knowing’ is often used to push oneself into ‘active knowing’.  This makes ‘passive knowing’ secondary and more of a ‘helpmate’.

This is probably why when I sit doing nothing (that is, with no active experience) I tend to feel that I am stupid and dumb.  At that moment I am stupid and dumb as nothing is happening, there is no active knowing.  As a result, I have become stagnant and, in a way, ‘dead’. 

CHARACTER

As I said above, the power of ‘active knowing’ is in the fact that it can be profound and change a person.  This shows that ‘active knowing’ can have a direct impact on who one is, ones self.  In other words, its power is that it has an effect on what I call ‘character’, which refers to the inner qualities of ones self and its manifestations.  This makes it so that ‘active knowing’ is more than a ‘knowing’ – information – but a deep interior manifestation and transformation that can have great impact on a person. 

What this more or less says is that ‘active knowing’ is a seeking of an ‘inner transformation’, the altering, and development, of ones character.  Because of this, it is associated with growth and health.  As a result, I tend to feel that the real benefit of knowing is not “knowing” but the formation of character. 

Thoughts on the problem of the ‘soap opera housewife’ and the ‘social media female’ – “The media absorption”

While thinking some time ago I found myself saying something interesting.  In many ways, this is a continuation of an article I wrote called “Thoughts on the new ‘social media’ female – the degradation of the female and mother???“.  How true it is I don’t know but this is what I thought:

THE ‘SOAP OPERA HOUSEWIFE’ AND ITS EFFECTS

I’ve always had this weird idea that soap opera’s were damaging to the female.  In fact, I often wondered if it, in actuality, destroyed the housewife and, subsequently, the wife in general and made many females unhappy with who they are.  I have always wondered about this but never really thought or discussed it with anyone.  One of the reasons for this, no doubt, is that I never heard anyone else speak about it and it sounds sort of far-fetched.

A lot of these feelings originate from experiences when I watched housewifes watch soap opera’s when I was a kid.  It seemed, to me, that it made them unhappy and I think it caused some problems for quite a few (such as depression).  I recall just walking into a house and you could tell if the mother was watching soap opera’s.  It as if permeated the air.  You could feel a ‘soap opera feeling’.  I generally associate it with a sense of depressiveness or sadness or excessive ‘emotion-ness’ in some way.  To me, the sound coming from soap opera’s tendended to have dull depressing low-pitched music, soft voices, and a sense of ‘emotional drama’.  The housewife was glued to the screen as if being ‘sucked’ into it, often crying or having all these “feelings”.  There seemed to be a reaction to the soap opera by the female that I have never seen anywhere else.  Many of these housewifes developed a specific look, of unhappiness, boredom, and depression.  I called this character the ‘soap opera housewife’.

Because of this, I have always despised even hearing a soap opera because of its association with unhappiness.  I, myself, have never seen a soap opera.  The most I have ever watched of a soap opera was maybe 5 or 10 minutes.  That was about all I could stand.  It was clear from the segments I have seen that one of the unique qualities of soap opera’s is that they cater to the “feelings” of the female, as if trying to pull her in with her feelings much like a fisherman reels in a fish.  Even as a kid I felt that . . . and it seemed very strong.  I could tell it was a whole unique style of movie and storywriting that was unlike the normal movies or stories.  They seemed to pull the female in with themes such as:

• Drama
• Romance
• Gossip
• The ‘dirty laundry’ of people
• Affairs
• Scandals
• Tear-jerking events

I can recall some housewives talking about how they liked or disliked certain characters, and often with serious conviction, as if they were real people.  I often got the impressions that some housewives seemed to think that they were actual happenings and actual people.  I recall many husbands telling them that its just a show, which the wives would agree with, and then turn around and continue talking as if was real again.  I seem to recall many husbands rolling their eyes over that. 

It seemed to me that soap opera’s definately hit something in the female.  It seemed to do this by catering to females more emotional side and need for human relationships (which wouldn’t work with the male as this impulse is not as strong in him).  In many ways, soap opera’s were the first to truly do this on this scale:  a strict catering to the females emotion-strings via relationships between people.  By doing this it sucked them right in and it seems I’d hear many say they were “hooked” on their favourite “soapie” and couldn’t miss an episode.  I seem to recall that they even had magazines you could buy at the store that told the drama of the recent episodes if they happen to miss it!  I’ve never seen that with any other type of series on TV.

I also often felt that soap opera’s cattered to the same quality in females as ‘gossip’ did in the past.  Basically, it gave housewives a ”front row seat” to other peoples lives, scandals, affairs, and ‘dirty laundry’.  Soap opera’s are stuff that, in real life, would make great ‘gossip’ material . . . and it sucked the females right in! 

All the drama of the soap opera made quite a contrast with their normal everyday existence.  It seemed to make their daily life dull.  In fact, it seems to me, that it was the ‘soap opera housewives’ who first began to view the housewife as ‘humdrum’ and ‘boring’ and ‘empty’.  We must remember that many housewives watched soap opera’s while doing housework, generally everyday, so the comparision was always there in front of their face.  Because of this, the soap opera drama was always there all the time, a counterpart to their dull boring lives.  It created things such as these:

• It made them overly emotional.
• It wound them up with other peoples lives.
• It took them away from where they were into another land and place.
• It made them want to be somewhere elsewhere.
• It made them feel that their life was dull and empty.
• It made them develop a poor view of themselves (low self-esteem).

These, in effect, created a female that became emotion-centered and unhappy with her situation.  In fact, I always felt that it made the house look ‘empty’ or ‘dead’ to many housewifes.  When they turned the soap opera off they found themselves alone doing the ironing or whatever.  I can even recall that the unhappiness of the soap opera watching housewife has even been portrayed in movies.  Often, they were portrayed as lonely, romance-starved, bored housewives sitting alone in their homes – truly an effect of the soap opera, something that I, myself, saw.

Because it made many of the housewives see the house as ‘empty’ it seemed like they “had to” get out into general society.  This meant leaving their home in some way.  For many, it entailed getting a job or doing some socially related thing.  In short, the ’emptiness’ of the home, that the soap opera created, made the housewife leave the home.  In so doing it, in a way, destroyed the housewife and, in many ways, helped destroy the home.  It also caused a deteriation in the wife in general.  Looking at it this way, it has actually done great damage to the female as a whole and has had a horrible impact on the family. 

One of the things it did is make the female too social-oriented as if thats all life is about.  When I was a kid I can recall many females being greatly concerned with what a female did and their role in life (as wife, mother, etc.).  They seemed to have an emphasis on the work or activities of the female and the importance of the female as a person.  Later, they didn’t care at all about that stuff and became concerned only with socializing or social things, as if that’s all life revolves around.  Their life became dominated by the social life.  They have to follow every fad and whim that comes along.  This is often done in complete blindness and to the point of becoming obessional.  In fact, much of the female life, nowadays, is nothing but social-based things, not on what they do as a person or the role they play in life.  This, in actuality, did great damage to the female as it no longer made the female a ‘player’ or a ‘doer’ as a person, so to speak.  This is one of the reasons why the ‘feminity’ is losing a worth and place in life.  This has created a problem with females, nowadays, as they spend too much time in social things and not enough time playing the role of female. 

THE ‘SOCIAL MEDIA FEMALE’

Recently, though, I’ve been seeing similar reactions with the new ‘socially connected’ female who spends 99.9 percent of her waking hours texting or using social media in some form or another.  I’m seeing a similar “look” as I saw with the ‘soap opera housewife’.  In many cases I’ve seen this can be ranked as an obsession/compulsion problem.   It seems as if it is causing similar effects and problems in the female.

Much of the social media is using somewhat similar techniques as the soap opera did, and with the same sort of success and effects.  Just as with soap opera’s, the social media pulls the female in by:

• Playing on the females emotion-strings
• Catering to the females need for relationships.

And just like soap opera’s they are being sucked into it and it is, in some cases, having complete domination of their life.   Accordingly, its causing problems.  Its causing similar problems as with the ‘soap opera housewife’, such as: 

• Unhappiness
• Depression
• Obession
• Socially-fixated
• Low self-esteem

Its creating a specific character of female which I call the ‘social media female’. 

They often have this empty vacuous look as if they are looking out into space all the time and often have monotone, almost robotic, voices.  There is often a look of unhappiness about them. 

THE ‘MEDIA ABSORPTION’

One aspect of the ‘soap opera housewife’ and ‘social media female’ is that they don’t seem to see their unhappiness, depression, and other problems.  So far, I’ve seen none that do.  The soap opera and social media are so powerful that they become as if ‘fixated’ on it to the point that they have this tendency to forget themselves.  This, in a way, is the problem with this:  it makes them forget to “maintain” themselves.  It’s an absorption so strong that it absorbs who they are and, as a result, destroys who they are.  This, in my opinion, is doing great damage to the female as a person and a human being. 

It’s interesting that, in the past, it has done great damage to the ‘female-as-a-person-in-society’, with the female role and place in society.  It seemed to of helped destroy the social significance and role of the female, things like the housewife and the wife and the mother.  Nowadays, the damage is not one of social role but as a person, a human being, the ‘female-as-a-person’.  This is what is being threatened today. 

All this shows the unique power the media can have on the female.  I call this phenemena “the media absorption”.  Like a vacuum it seems to suck them in.  “The media aborption” seems to absorb them so much that it absorbs who they are resulting in great neglect of themselves (socially or as a person).  As a result, their lives become ‘fixated’ on what the media does to them and their reaction to it.  All their viewpoints, feelings, identities, etc. all have a basis in the media.  In so doing, the media controls their lives.  Just like with the ‘soap opera housewife’ we’re seeing the ‘social media female’ becoming overly emotional about things in the social media, crying over every tragedy thats on the social media, living life through other people on the social media, becoming engrossed with the ‘dirty laundry’ of other people, and so on.  And just like the ‘soap opera housewife’ we’re seeing girls become increasingly unhappy, depressed, feeling empty, and a general unhappiness in who they are.  It’s almost the same thing, but with a little bit of difference.

ESCAPING ‘MEDIA ABSORPTION’???

The unhappiness of the illusionary, almost phantasyland, quality of the ”the media absorption” makes many females not want to be who and what they are.  The media makes their life look ‘empty’ and ‘humdrum’ as they look out into the illusionary world of the media.  In other words, it makes girls seem themselves poorly and their lives.  They as if wanted to chase this illusionary world of the media by going somewhere else.  In the past the females went away from being housewives, wives, and mothers because, at that time, things were more social role oriented.  About all there was for them to do was to get a job, which is about all they could do to get them out of their current situation.  The great benefit of getting a job is that it got many girls away from the soap opera’s which, it seems to me, helped many  of them improve for that reason.  Many girls seemed to feel better about themselves as a result. 

But now the new ‘social media’ has appeared and started the whole process all over again.  It has created a unique problem.  Unlike the soap opera, which required a TV, girls now carry the ‘social media’ with them at all times, often in their hand!  Before, the housewife could ‘escape’ from the soap opera.  Where do the girls escape from it now when its with them at all times?  Where can they go now? 

Just as with the ‘soap opera housewife’, which did much destruction to the female, the path of the ‘social media female’ seems to be taking a similar course.  Because of the domination of ‘social media’ they are as if transforming themselves into its shape but, in so doing, they destroy themselves.  This, to me, is quite evident.  Many females, it seems to me, are in a dilemma, of who they are and what their exact role in society is.  Some of the things I’ve seen that show this tendency include:

• A greater absorption in media.
• Having to follow every trend that comes along.
• A ‘fantasyland’ perspective on life.
• Seeking to be something they are not.   I’m particularly starting to see a trend, in many females, where they are primarily having problems with sexual identity.  Many females are going so far that they are trying to be men or, in some cases, don’t know what sex they are. 
• A degradation of self, of falling into depression, low self-esteem, and such.

The fact is that they can not escape who they are.  No job, no career, no pretending to be something they are not, will change that.  Overall, to me it appears that the female has hit a wall, there is really no where they can go.  In effect, I see that the female is in an existential dilemma.  The problem is that they don’t seem to know it!  In some ways, the ‘media absorption’ is hiding and disguising this dilemma, making it appear non-existent.  But, at the same time, it is contributing to the problem making something like a vicious circle that goes around and around.

THE FEMALES VULNERABILITY TO ‘MEDIA ABSORPTION’

The female character seems vulnerable to “the media absorption”.  They fall to it very easily and let it control their lives almost without thought.  I have always felt that this ease of falling to it originates from the childbearing tendency in the female.  This tendency is innate in the female and, as a result, moulds much of their behaviour and life. 

The childbearing tendency creates certain character traits in the female, all originating from motherly-like instincts, which are as if projected onto the world.  This makes it so that the female tends to look at all the world in a ‘motherly cast’ sort of a way.  In many ways, the female tends to treat the world as if it is a “child”.  Some of the things it does include:

• A tendency to be emotion-first.  This makes it so that the female tends to see the world through the lens of emotion.  As a result, the female relates with the world on primarily an emotional level (whereas males do not).  This is because the mother instinct is based in emotion as a primary connection with other people.  As a result, the catering to emotion has great impact and influence on the female, her behaviour, and how she views the world.
• A tendency to need someone.  There is an innate tendency for the female to need someone, no doubt originating from the innate need of a child.  But it tends to be projected onto the world, in a general way, and becomes a need for almost somone or some perception of some “other” person.  I call this innate need for someone else ‘The principle of the other’.  This makes it so that the female is almost in a perpetual need for someone, the “other”.
• A tendency to ’absorb’ someone else.  Motherly love is a special type of love.  It is actually a sort of absorption of the child, or a representation of a child. When this happens the child, or its representative, is as if ‘taken into’ the mother, becoming a part of the mother.  To put it another way, the child, or its representative, are viewed as an extension of the mother, as if it is part of her body or self.  This makes motherly love, really, an extension of a self love in the female, as the child must be perceived as part of herself to be “loved”.  As a result, the female tendency to ‘absorb’ is nothing but the identification of herself with the ‘other’, often as if they are one and the same. 
• A tendency to be ‘mentally absent’.  The tendency to ‘absorb’ requires that the female must be ‘part empty’, so to speak.  That is to say, she needs something to ’filll up’ the ‘empty’ part within her.  This is done with the “other” (child representative).  Because of this, being ‘filled’ with the “other” becomes the ‘absorption’.  In short, it tends to make them see themselves as an extension of the ‘other’, who they place first and follow and will often live through.  Because of this, they often ‘forget themselves’, often treating themselves as if they are not even there.  This makes them ‘mentally absent’.  Often this is done to such an extent that many females need to be ‘dominated’ or ‘controlled’ or ‘told what to do’.  I speak of this tendency of being ‘mentally absent’ as ‘the partial mind’. 

With these traits we can see that “the media absorption” is really a result of projected motherly-like impulses.  The ‘media’ becomes the representative of the child, who the female ‘absorbs’.  It also fullfills her need for someone through ‘social connection’.  But her tendency to be ‘mentally absent’ makes the female ‘lose herself’ in it all, forgetting who she is.  This makes it a ‘complete absorption’ and it can turn into something like an obsession/compulsion very easily.  Its an example of what I often call ‘misguided motherliness’ where the motherly tendency in the female is misguided into areas it is not meant to go.  When it does this it tends to become very ineffective and counterproductive.

I tend to see this as a crisis with females nowadays as this is a good example of how much of their innate tendencies really no longer have a place or purpose.  Since the “role” of the mother, for example, is no longer that useful they try to ‘mother’ everything else in the world.  This tendency is even getting to the point that many females think they are the ‘mothers’ of the world, the ones who care for it, and that they are the great representatives of ‘love’.  If one looks behind all this show one can see that many females are still trying to satisfy their innate need to ‘mother’.

The problem of the ‘Modern Originators’: ‘Modern Envy’, ‘Modern Entitlement’, ‘Entitlers’, ‘The Great Dilution’, and the ‘Modern Insufficiency Complex’

Every so often I have thoughts that I’m not sure what to make of or what they mean.  I cannot say how true they are if there is any relevence in them.  Despite this, they seem interesting enough to write down.   Here are the thoughts I had:

THE ‘MODERN ORIGINATORS’

The modern world has created an interesting problem or, more properly, the success of the modern world created it, for none of this would have happened if it didn’t work so well. 

To begin with, we must understand that the modern world was created by a specific group of people.  In other words, it wasn’t just created by anyone.  This group of people had specific ideals, values, traditions, beliefs, and belong to a specific social group.  However you want to look at it this is the fact.  In many respects, the creation of the modern world is the result of the combination or blending of many different qualities in just the right way.  Had it not of happened this ”right way”, there would be no modern world.  This blending of conditions all happened within a specific group of people in a specific culture.  In actuality, this specific group of people are a minority in the culture.  So, in effect, the group of people we are looking at consists of a small amount of people, far smaller, I think, than what it seems.  I will speak of them here as the ‘modern originators’.  These people, in many ways, are who created the modern world. 

This group was never actually defined as a ‘group’ by anyone (such as calling them the ‘noble class’), at least as far as I know.  As a result, the name I use is to define a social pattern that I see and not describing any acknowledged pattern.  Because of this, the ‘modern originators’, as a group ,may seem fuzzy.  But, when one looks at the ‘modern originators’, one can see that they had very specific qualities such as:

• They were Western European or descended from them.  British and British-derived people, such as Americans, topped the list.  German and French were also common.
• They were male.  As a result, the modern world reflected male characteristics and qualities.
• They were generally middle class.  They were not poor but not aristocrats either. 
• They were brought up in the Western European intellectual tradition.
• They were part of Christian society.  As a result, much of their motivations were often done as a result of Christian beliefs (such as the modern world will ‘save’ the world).
• They were part of Germanic/Scandinavian society, reflecting the organizational and tribal-like qualities of that society.
• They seemed to take many views reflected in what is generally called the Enlightenment.

To me, it seems that these were very significant qualities that all came together and created the modern world.  It primarily focused on Western Europe and the U.S.A.  It was so localized to a specific group of people that it was not even seen in the far north, the east, or the south of Europe.  They did not, and still are not, creating the modern world.  Even though they were only tens or hundreds of miles away they still could not create it.  This shows that the modern world is not a creation of general ”European civilization” but a specific culture.  In addition, no one else in the world is creating it either.  Most of what everyone else is doing is ‘copy cating’, so to speak, and ‘following along’, often doing nothing more than ‘taking the next step’.  This further shows that it is a product of a specific group of people with specific ideals and such that is not seen anywhere else in the world.

As we can see, the modern world is the creation of the ’modern originators’ with their ideals, traditions, and such.  Over time, it proved to be very successful, perhaps, too successful.  It created wealth and materialism and such that had never before been seen in the world.  With the success of the ’modern originators’ they ended up having things no one else had, such as:

• Glory and prestige.
• Power and influence.
• Materialism and luxury.

And so what did this do?

‘MODERN ENVY’

It created an envy of a particular sort, which I call ‘Modern Envy’.  Basically what happened is that anyone who is not part of the ‘modern originators’ group developed an envy of them and soon wanted what this group had.  It caused a lot of resentment and hatred.  In some cases, it resembled the hatred toward the nobility.  In a way, it became an ‘unacknowladged class struggle’.  You were either in the group or not in the group. 

The way this envy worked reminds me of the 1980 movie ”The Gods Must Be Crazy” where a single Coke bottle caused all sorts of problems for a tribal society on account of envy, greed, and such, making people argue and fight.  This is because the Coke bottle was so unique in their society . . . and there was only one.  As a result of the problems it created, a guy took the bottle and threw the bottle off the edge of the world.  Basically, the success of the modern world has made everyone envious in much the same way.  The problem is that we cannot throw the modern world off the edge of the world.

Many people felt the resentment of the ‘modern originators’ and what they created, as myself have seen and heard other people speak about, but it has largely been passed over.  One of the reasons for this is that it is often looked at as an extension of the rich/poor type of thing.  Because of this, it is looked at from the traditional ‘class struggle’ problem, which it is not.  It is something more than that.  This tends to make it so that it is not noticed for what it is. 

One version I saw of this resentment was a unique form that, as far as I know, no one has ever acknowledged.  Basically, what I saw was an incredible envy and resentment toward the White American Male as this group tends to be associated with the ‘modern originator’ group.  (I wrote several articles on what I called White American Male envy:  ”Thoughts on the ‘WAM envy’ – a success story turned bad” and “Thoughts on how I responded to an interview on TV – WAM envy again . . . and ‘culture clash’“)  Ironically, very few White American Males are part of this group.  Regardless of this, this resentment made many people think that the White American Male had qualities such as:

• That they ‘have everything’. 
• That they are privileged.
• That they are tyrannical.
• That they had all this power.
• That they are power hungry.
• That they are selfish.
• That they wanted everything for themselves.
• That they are corrupt.

Many of these attitudes were not attitudes of the general White American Male . . . they were, in fact, the attitudes that reflected the envious feelings people felt and which were projected onto the White American Male.  In fact, it is this inconsistency that made me notice this problem, that people were claiming things that I wasn’t seeing.  From my observation, I never saw these types of attitudes as part of the general White American Male character at all, though there were individual people who displayed some of them.  They certainly weren’t typical and they certainly did not define them as a group.  But these views have created an ‘unspoken bias’ toward the White American Male that I see all the time, of certain assumptions and opinions that can, at times, be described as ’racist’ or ‘discriminatory’.  Just recently, for example, I’ve seen attitudes toward White American Male politicians, for example, that display this bias.  In this case, they automatically assumed that a politician is corrupt because he’s a White American Male and that he is selfish or only cares for himself.  I’ve even seen cases where they think “any minority” will be ”better” than a White American Male!!! 

As I said above, though the White American Male is often associated with the ‘modern originator’, most of them are not a part of this group.  In fact, I saw a lot of White American Males display the ‘modern envy’ toward other White American Males!  This is actually where I first began to see it.  They often called them names, like ‘nerd’ and other things.  This has become so common that it’s practically part of the White American Male life.   This shows that even the White American Male was envious.

What this reveals is that there are many forms and aspects of the ‘modern originator’ group.  It is not as definable group as it may seem.  A person cannot just ‘pin it down’ on a specific group based on race, social standing, class, nationality, education, etc.  It seems that what defines this group is very fluid.  Often, it seems that conditions are what make a ‘modern originator’, as well as where one stands.   This gives this whole thing a weird quality of ‘chasing shadows’.  It is even more like shadows as no one has ever defined the group to begin with.  But, overall, one could say that a ‘modern originator’ is generally anyone who is contributing to the modern world as seen by someone who is not contributing.  And, more importantly, by contributing they benefit from it.  As a result, the ‘modern originator’ is someone who is benefitting from the modern world as seen by someone who is not benefitting.  This creates a condition of have/have-nots . . . the condition for envy.  As a result of things like this, the envy has created a myth about the ‘modern originators’ and who they are and which often have no substantiation and only reflect their feelings of envy toward specific people. 

THE COMING OF THE “ENTITLERS”

Normally, this envy would have just remained as an envy and would have created resentment and such (as happens in most countries).  But British and British-derived society, such as the U.S., had another avenue for these feelings to go, and one that can do things and cause changes.  It originates from the class struggle problem of Britain.  In general, it has to do with political/legal ideology.  To make a long story short, in the name of political/legal ideology they claimed that they had the ‘rights’ to have the same things as the ‘modern originators’:

• To have what the ‘modern originators’ have.
• To do what the ‘modern originators’ do. 
• To achieve what the ‘modern originators’ achieved.
• To receive the glory that the ‘modern originators’ have.

Making it a political/legal issue turned ‘modern envy’ into an idea of ‘entitlement’, that they are entitled, by principle of ‘rights’, to basically “be” the same as the ‘modern originators’.  I speak of this as ‘Modern Entitlement’.  The people who practice this I call the “Entitlers”. Using words such as ‘rights’, ‘equality’, ‘fairness’, etc. they basically convinced everyone that they deserved what the ‘modern originators’ had. 

But, in Western Societies, it went even further than that:  the “Entitlers” wanted more than what the ‘modern originator’ had . . . they wanted to become ‘modern originators’.  They felt that they should be able to do and achieve what they did.  In short, they felt they were entitled to do whatever they did and to have their glory.  They felt they were entitled to the same success and the same achievement.  In some cases, I’ve seen it where they say that this is their ‘right’.  I’ve also seen people say that, if there are not enough females or minorities having success and achievement like the ‘modern originators’, then it is because of ‘discrimination’.   

These ideas of entitlement, we must remember, only appeared AFTER the success of the modern world.  This, to me, makes the “Entitlers” appear like opportunists.  In fact, this is one of the things that has always griped me about this.  Many of them are doing nothing but ‘following along’ and taking advantage of things because the system allows them to.  This, though, would not bother me as much if they did not make a political/legal issue out of it or villanized people.  To me, these things practically brand them as opportunists and people trying to take advantage of the situation. 

EXAMPLES OF “ENTITLERS”

Some of the people who make up the “Entitlers” include:

• Males who are not part of the ‘modern originator’ group.
• Females.
• Minorities.
• People from other countries.

Each group, of course, have a different stance, a different quality of envy, and a different attitude of entitlement based on their situation.  Because of this there are many variations and forms of ‘entitlers’.  Often, modern entitlement is blended with other things (such as class struggle, racism, etc.) based on the peoples situation, belief, and history.  Some specific examples include:

• I first began to notice the “entitlers” with a group of people called feminists.  They seem to think that they are entitled to everything the ‘modern originators’ have and expect to be treated as if they are ‘modern originators’ even though they have nothing to do with its creation and development.   Over the years, though, it became clear to me that a lot of feminism is nothing but a form of envy of the ‘modern originators’.  In their case, the ‘modern originator’ was usually in the image of a male who they are envious of. 
• I also noticed this mentality with many Mexicans recently.  In fact, it seems to me that much of the whole immigration issues, nowadays, revolve around the principle of ‘entitlement’, that they are entitled to have what we have.  Just like most of the ’entitlers’, they use the law to “prove” it.  In this case, we – Americans – are viewed as the ‘modern originators’ who they are envious of.
• Many people in other countries are envious of the modern world and what the ‘modern originators’ have created.  I’ve heard of many people in other countries speak of this envy.  I heard one guy say that “we want what they have”.  Typically, though, people from other countries want things in a different way.  They generally only want things like consumerism, materialism, automobiles, and things like that – usually practical things.  They do not necessarily want to become like the ‘modern originators’ themselves or seek their ‘glory’, which seems to be a common want for people who live within Western societies.

It’s not uncommon for people from these groups to act as if they should be ‘handed’ things, almost for free, things that they never created, worked for, had anything to do with, or any involvement with, or would have ever of ever come up with.  In some cases, they actually demand it . . . and with political/legal threats!  If they don’t get it then they complain that they are ‘oppressed’ or ‘discriminated’ or something similar . . . the familiar abuse claim of political/legal ideology that is so common with the ‘entitlers’.  It doesn’t take a genius to see that they see the ‘modern originators’ as “successful” so they want to take advantage of the situation with any means possible!

THE ‘GREAT DILUTION’ – MODERN OPPORTUNISTS

Since, according to the political/legal ideology, everyone is ‘entitled’ to be a ‘modern originator’, they now are allowed to try and be one . . . by law!  As a result, every Tom, Dick, and Harry is buckin’ for the position.  What this has done is caused an ‘influx’ of people who do not reflect the ‘modern originator’ mentality trying to do the ‘modern originator’ “thing”.  In other words, the “new” people are not from the ‘modern originator’ group of people and do not reflect their values or beliefs.  In short, the ‘modern originators’ are being replaced by people who are not ‘modern originators’ but ‘modern originator’ want-to-be’s.  This is being done justified by law and by political ideology (such as the ideals of democracy and equality).  As a result, the ‘modern originator’ mentality is becoming diluted in the industries and fields.  We’re seeing less and less the ‘modern originator’ point of view and more and more of the want-to-be attitude, or the I’m-entitled-because-I-have-a-degree attitude, or I’m-entitled-by-law, and other attitudes.  If they have any problems . . . then they whip out political/legal ideology.  Regardless of the political/legal justifications, and how good it may sound, it has diluted the ideals of the ‘modern originators’.  I speak of this as ‘The Great Dilution’. 

I have found that, contrary to popular belief, having many people with different points of view isn’t as beneficial as it may first appear.  I was often taught that diversity was some sort of a strength as a kid, that having different type of people (such as from different cultures, religions, etc.) will create more innovation and such.  So far, I don’t see a lot of evidence of this.  Actually, it seems to go the other way.  The people who don’t have the correct ideals actually tend to hamper things by being unable to ‘fit in’ or ‘contribute’ or making things go off in unproductive directions.  As a result, it is actually diluting it all, watering it down, weakening it.  This is another example of how the ‘modern originator’ mentality is a very specific mentality reflecting specific points of view that only some people have. 

It seems to me that ‘The Great Dilution’ is starting to create problems.  In fact, the U.S. and England (the countries who started the modern world) are seeming to begin to fail because of this dilution . . . the ideals simply aren’t there anymore!  Even when I was at the University 20 years ago I recall seeing “envy ideals”, of the want-to-be or I’m-entitled-because-I-have-a-degree  or I’m-entitled-by-law attitude as dominant . . . ideals based in envy.  I could see that people went to the University to ‘take advantage of the situation’, to seek money, prestige, status, and such.   In other words, envy was the motivation, and spurring the want, not the ‘modern originator’ mentality.  And so we see a pattern:   that the ‘great dilution’ is, in large part, a result of people seeking opportunity and benefit!  We see a growth of people that could probably be described as ‘modern opportunists’.  In many ways, they have grown so much, and on such a scale, that they are literally pushing the ‘modern originators’ out.  As I said, these people, generally, do not have the ideals as they are there to only take advantage of the situation.   

ON HOW EDUCATION DOES NOT MAKE A ‘MODERN ORIGINATOR’

Many people seem to think that getting an education will make a person into a ‘modern originator’.  This is not the case.  In many ways, this is one of the great illusions of the modern world, as if education is the doorway to everything.  Its supported by the belief that ’anyone can do it’, particularly in America who worships this idea.  Well, the fact is that this is not true . . . not anyone can do it.  The ‘modern originator’ mentality is part of a culture.  You don’t learn it at the University (It’s like saying that because I majored in Japanese Culture at the University it makes me Japanese).  But, yet, many people think that a degree automatically makes them part of this group.  The fact is that the people with degree’s are not repeating what the ‘modern originators’ have done, which is what they “think” they are doing.  Just in the past 20 or so years we have been inundated with people with degree’s but yet, they’ve actually done very little.  Less are doing things now than ever before.  Most of the people going to the Universities are just people doing their assignments, and such, doing what they need to pass and get a job.  That’s not the ‘modern originator’ mentality!   

I should also point out that even the spread of western knowledge, and Universities, and the modern world to other countries is not creating a new “batch of foreign ’modern originators’”.  They are not appearing out of the woodwork.  This is because, as I said above, you can’t learn to be a ‘modern originator’ at a University.  Its part of a culture and historical conditions.

THE DILUTION OF LATTER GENERATIONS: THE ‘MODERN CONTINUERS’

‘The Great Dilution’ has gone so far that the generations of people who “should” have the ‘modern originator’ mentality are no longer reflecting this mentality.  A lot of this is created by the prevalence of the ‘entitlers’ mentality and political/legal ideology.  In effect, the mentality of the ‘modern originator’ is waning.  Since the ‘modern originator’ mentality is waning we are beginning to see what I call the ‘modern continuers’.  This is a mentality of “just continuing things” or, rather, of “keeping things going”.  Much of things now is nothing but “taking the next step”. 

Not only that, there has even begun to appear a ‘system’ created by the ‘modern continuers’ where they have an organized way of continuing things to the point that it’s almost like an assembly line.  Many research facilities, for example, have a ‘system’ or ‘procedure’ for developing, testing, and creating things.  In many ways, the continuing of the ‘modern originator’ “mentality” has been turned into a commercial manufacturing process, an assembly line.  It seems that this is what remains of the ‘modern originator’.  In other words, the ‘modern originator’ has been turned into a ‘process’. 

THE ‘MODERN INSUFFICIENCY COMPLEX’

Another side to the success of the ‘modern originators’ is that it has created something of an inferiority complex in many people, particularly in ‘modern’ countries.  Many people see that they cannot ‘compete’ with the achievements of the ‘modern originators’.  Since these achievements hang over them wherever they go it creates a common ‘downcast’ quality in some people.  For some people this can create feelings of worthlessness and uselessness.  No matter what they do its never ‘good enough’.  This problem is particularly prevalent in males, particularly European or European descended males.  I speak of this as the ‘modern insufficiency complex’, as it creates a sense of being insufficient in some way.  Personally, I feel this is a big problems nowadays.  Its one of those hidden problems no one knows about. 

Its created a number of problems:

• There is a tendency to apathy in many of these people.  Since they cannot compete it makes many of these people become stagnant in life.
• It creates feelings of inferiority, that one is not ‘good enough’ for anything.
• There are often feelings that one ‘can’t do anything’. 
• It creates a downcast attitude.  This can even go to the point of becoming a depression.
• It creates a tendency to low self-esteem.
• A tendency to complain about ones situation.
• It can create a hatred and resentment for modern things.
• A tendency to feel like a “nobody”.

The ‘modern insufficiency complex’ is not an envy but a desire, really, to emulate the ideals of the ‘modern originators’ and finding that one is no comparison.  In other words, it’s a result of being unable to follow an ideal creating a disappointment and a frustration.  As a result, it often creates a feeling of disappointment and frustration in life.  For some people it can have drastic effects on their life.

I often think that this problem is more prevalent in the U.S. because that country emulates achievement so much as well as innovation and creation.  Because of this, finding that one is not ‘good enough’ is felt more strongly and has greater effect.  In fact, I sometimes wonder if it has had great impact on the American male, far greater than at first seems.  Basically, it has made them feel like ‘nobodies’ which is how many of them behave.  I say this because there is a look I see with many American males, as if they are all looking at this great system they know they cannot compete with.  They look at its massiveness and power which hangs above them.  Though they may put on a ‘show’ of doing something, deep down they feel unable to compete with it . . . they feel insufficient.  It causes many of them to develop a ‘stagnant’ or ‘blindly following’ attitude, making them appear shallow, superficial, incompetent, inferior , , , turning them into ‘nobodies’. 

THE INEVITABLE WANING OF THE ‘MODERN ORIGINATORS’

The waning of the ‘modern originators’ was inevitable.  Being a result of a specific belief system, culture, social and historical conditions, it could not persist indefinitely.  Not only that, one can only do so much ‘originating’ and creation.  It had to fizzle out sooner or later.  We are in a period of time where it is fizzling out.  The era of the ‘modern originator’, really, is over. 

It’s success, though, has caused great envy and resentment that made everyone, and their dog, want a ‘piece of the pie’ . . . and they did just this, to the point of using law and politics to justify it.  This created an era of ‘entitlers’, people who felt that they should have what the ‘modern originators’ have, which followed them along like roadies following a rock’n roll band.  In so doing, they caused an influx of people who do not reflect ‘modern originator’ mentality.  Many of these people had University degrees which, supposedly, makes them the same as ‘modern originators’, which they are not.  In the end the ‘modern originator’ was diluted to the point that they practically disappeared.  This waning of the ‘modern originator’ is causing many power vacuums, people imitating them and trying to continue what they did.  None, though, are becoming ‘modern originators’.  Overall, we seem to be in a ‘post modern originator era’.  Its more of a ‘modern continuer era’, where everything is geared to continuing things, keeping the status quo.

“Revelation of an Old Man”

“Revelation of an Old Man”

A short story by Mike Michelsen

———-

It was like any old day.  I mean, there wasn’t anything new about it.  Just the repetition and the pitter-patter of a day going by like any other day.   The sun went across the sky as usual and the shadows moved to avoid its glare.  Its not that I’m complaining.  That’s just the way it was.

Edgar, as usual, sat on his favourite park bench, underneath that elm tree . . . or was it a maple tree? . . . I guess it doesn’t matter.  He sat underneath that tree with its shade covering him like a blanket.  These were the moments he cherished, away from the old folks home where he lived. 

“Bah, old people!” he’d always say.

He never liked old people.  In fact, he detested them. 

“Why live to such old age?  Why be a cripple? Might as well be dead.”

The problem, which he conveniently avoided, was that he had become an old man.  Seventy eight, he liked to think, wasn’t that old.  “You don’t get old til you reach 90,” he now says.  The problem is that twenty years ago he was saying, “you don’t get old til you reach 70” but now he’s past that.  He just couldn’t admit to himself that he had to keep pushing the age when a person gets “too old” upward and upward the older he gets. 

But, deep down, he knew the truth:  He was old.  His hair was white, wrinkles had grown deep into his face, his eyes seemed dimmer, walking seemed a chore, his fingers were bent  . . . let’s not keep mentioning these sort of things, they’re too depressing.

Anyways, there he was sitting on that park bench.  The bench sat in front of a school playground but when recess came, it became filled with hyper-rats crawling all over, screaming, crying, yelling, and doing all those sort of annoyances any old man should not have to take. 

“Bah, kids!” he’d always say.

He never liked kids.  In fact, he detested them.

He didn’t mind it when they were in class but oh when the bell rang – “the bell of misery” he called it – that’s when the agony began.  Out of the door a stream of screaming kids came out like wasps from a hive. 

“Why must anyone endure such things?” he always thought.

There were a few kids that he detested more than others.  They always came up to him and talked to him and called him “old man”.

“I’m not old!” was his reply.

He hated them.

There was little Nancy, with her stuffed dog, who always come up and hugged him.  She even offered, once, to let him have her dog – his name was ‘fuzzy’ by the way – so he would not be alone and grouchy all the time.  Naturally, he declined.  “What am I going to do with a stuffed dog?” he’d say.

Then there was Johnny.  Edgar got tired of him asking what world war two was like.  “My grandpa was in world war two,” he’d always say, “that’s the war before world war three.”  

Then there was Troy.  “That little brat,” he’d always say.  I must agree with Edgar that it isn’t nice to kick an old man in the shin and then run away calling him and “old bag” or shooting spit wads at him from behind the slide.  I think Edgar was correct in how he felt about him, he was sort of a brat.

There were others too, but it’d take too long to mention. 

But he endured them all.  It was only for 15 minutes or half an hour.  That’s not too bad.  He learned to endure the endless screaming noise and the continual ruckus that came out of that “pit of wolves” as he sometimes called it.  Everywhere he looked were screeching yelling little monkeys.  How detestable!  Then one would fall off the monkey bars, get hurt, and the crying would start – oh, lets not mention it – that was too much for Edgar.

But when the “saviour bel”, as he called it, rang oh a smile always ran across his face.  The motley mess that swarmed out of the doors swarmed right back in.  Then all would be tranquil again.  These were the moments he treasured.  That’s when life was sweet, away from the old people and away from the kids.  What more could Edgar want?   Life was bliss then.

One day, after being pestered by the brats and enduring their ordeal the bell signalled a return to the calm he cherished where he brooded on life and its pointless ways. 

“What is a man supposed to do nowadays?  There’s no place for old people – I mean, older people – nowadays.  . . . I’m not old.  I’ve got a ways to go yet.” 

One day, he heard a noise above him.  As he looked up he thought he saw something, or maybe he thought he saw something.  What was it?  Could it be?  A needle and thread that seemed to float in space, the needle moving back and forth in space as if mending a tear in an old pair of jeans.  It can’t be!   Must be his imagination . . . It’s got to be.

“Huh,” was his reply.

The days passed as they always do . . . normal days, the usual.  He brooded much as always, “lousy dinner they serve us here . . . how is someone supposed to stomach that?”, “lousy social security check . . . how are you supposed to live on that?”, “ . . .no one ever comes to see me . . .”  No one ever did.  He watched everyone else at the old folks home have visitors but not one has he had. 

Poor Edgar.  No one cared.  He always sat . . . alone.

He never married nor had any kids.  I guess it didn’t interest him.  What there was of his family lived in another state.   Sometimes he could cry, but he never did.

Brooding so he noticed he had a hangnail on the index finger of his left hand.  He had to cut it off.  He reached in his pocket and pulled out his pocket knife.  Unfolding the knife the newly sharpened blade seemed to shimmer.  Quietly he cut the hang nail off and tossed it into the playground. 

Right at this moment a pestering fly came about, flying about his face.  I guess it wanted to land on his face. 

“Blasted fly, your worse than the kids,” he thought.

With his hand, still holding the knife with the blade still outstretched, he made a motion as if to wave the fly off, but to his surprise a change seemed to happen.  He couldn’t believe his eyes.  The image of reality before him seemed to rip open like a cloth.  It was as if the playground, in front of him, was nothing but a painting that now, was cut, with the bottom flap hanging down.  It was as if his knife cut open the image of reality! 

In the hole that the tear created a blackness seemed to dwell.  A cool eerie breeze seemed to come from behind the torn cloth of reality. 

Then he saw in the blackness . . . a movement?  What’s that? . . . a voice? 

This is so strange.  There he sat on that bench under that tree staring at a gaping hole seemingly to hang in space, listening to what?

Leaning forward, he peered into the darkness and could faintly make out something. 

Trees!

“Huh, impossible!” he exclaimed.

He couldn’t help but look . . . this weird gaping hole was directly in front of where he was sitting.  He looked closer and leaned forward.  He got up, put out his hands and opened the gap even wider.  Looking in he could see . . . yes, there were trees, and some birds chirping.

Slowly he poked his head through to get a better look. 

It was dark.  A musty smell.   

He inched his head further into the hole till half his body was in, and then – whoops! – he lost balance and slipped.  He fell . . . fell into the hole. 

His hip!  His bones . . . did he break any bones? 

He lay there for a time, occasionally trying to get up but he just ached too much.  A fall hurts when you’re old, especially as old as Edgar. 

Laying on the dirt he looked up at the sky.  It was day but the clouds were completely covering the sky. 

He wondered what to do.  He layed there for a while . . . 10-20 minutes maybe.  Then he heard it – a humming, someone’s humming.  He could hear the cracking of twigs breaking under something’s foot.  And then . . .

“Gadnapid!  Another tear.  I just repaired this spot a few weeks ago.”

Looking over he saw a small plump man, maybe four feet tall, filthy dirty from head to foot.  His clothing seemed to be leather infused with grime and a horrible stench.  On his back was a footstool that he began to unfold.  Standing up on the footstool he reached in the bag he had on his side and took out a large needle, 12” long maybe, and some thread.  He proceeded to mend the tear that Edgar made with his knife, just like mending a tear in an old pair of jeans.

This seemed familiar, Edgar thought to himself.  This looked similar to what he saw some weeks before . . . the thread and needle that seemed to be hovering in space.

As the man mended the tear he hummed a tune.  Edgar never heard of such a tune.  It seemed eerily quaint, almost other-wordly. 

But Edgar lay silent, half scared and half curious. 

Soon the man was finished, folded up his footstool and was on his way.

“What was that? . . . Where am I?” Edgar finally said.

Edgar leaned up and stood on his feet.

Funny, he doesn’t seem to ache now.

Looking around he had no idea where he was at. 

“A forest . . . somewhere”, was all he could get out.  “I guess I’ll have to walk till I find a road and flag down an automobile.  What a nuisance.  An old man shouldn’t be doing this type of stuff.”

Picking a direction he walked and walked, through thick forests, through several meadows and jumping over a few streams.  It seemed endless.  He was feeling weak too.  It would be nice if he could have something to eat. 

He was getting tired too.  “I guess I’ll have to sleep on the ground.  This is no way for an old man to sleep.”

Finding a grassy area near a bush he layed down.  It was a little chilly.  “I guess I’ll have to endure the cold.  I hope I don’t catch pneumonia.  This is no way for an old man to be.”

In the morning he woke up aching.  It was a restless night.  He opened his eyes to see another overcast sky.  It wasn’t as dark as the day before but it was unusually dark. 

“What weird weather,” he said to himself.

Standing up he staggered and almost fell.  He knew he needed something to eat . . . and what about his medication?

He began to get a little worried.

All he could do is to continue on and so he did.

The hours were long, at least for an old man, and the place was just so dreary.  It seemed he’d never find a road.  He began to get hopeless.  There seemed to be no one.

“What’s the point?” he’d say every few minutes, “what’s the point?”

Finally, he could not go any further.  He sat on a rock.  Breathing heavily he rested.  He heard a bird chirp, then a couple more.  The water seemed to be singing like some grand choir as it rolled off the rocks.  Perhaps they were singing to him?  The chill, on second thought, wasn’t so bad.  It was actually sort of nice. 

Then he heard a noise.  Not just any noise but a peculiar noise.

“What is that?” he thinks to himself . . . “there it is again.  Is someone playing dice?” 

Sure enough, it sounded like dice being rolled on the ground.  It was there, up ahead in those bushes.  Looking closely, peering with his worn-out eyes, he could make out something . . . there’s something behind the bushes.

He gets up, infuriated by the noise, and marches to the bush.  Pulling it away he says, “Can’t you give an old man any quiet . . .”  He then stops and notices a man, wearing just a loincloth, sitting on the ground, completely oblivious to him, unresponsive, as if he never even heard him speak.   He’s throwing about 20 or so bones on the ground, then he picks them up and throws them down again.  The noise he heard was the ‘clank, clank’ of the bones hitting one another . . . so it wasn’t dice after all. 

As he sat watching him roll the dice the man suddenly says, “You need to see the winged one . . . the bones say.”

“Who me?” Edgar replies.  Silently he thinks to himself, “is he talking to me?”

“You need to go now, otherwise it’ll be too late.”

“Go where?  Are you talking to me?”

“There!” the man says as he points to a small mountain.  “Cave on mountain side . . . you see?  There is what you need.  Go now!” he says as if giving him a command.

Bewildered, Edgar stands perplexed.  Silently, he says to himself, “is he talking to me? . . .” as he turns and begins to walk toward the mountain. 

When he gets to the base of the mountain he stops and thinks how weird it is, as if an uncontrollable force is moving him to do what the man said.  “I’ve never seen anything like that,” he says to himself. 

“Oh well, I’m  here,”  Edgar declares, “I might as well see the cave.”

He glances up and squints.  There’s a cave up there all right, he thinks to himself, but how is he supposed to get up there, especially with his aging bones and aching muscles? 

“No, I can’t climb that . . . maybe 20 years ago.”

Edgar does what an old man can only do:  he sits down. 

Glancing up at the overcast sky he states to himself, “Good thing its overcast today.  It would be a blazing heat if the sun was out.”  Looking down at the ground he starts to fidget with a small stone with his foot as he wonders what to do.

After a few minutes a bird call comes from above making Edgar look up.  He sees a large bird overhead flying toward the mountain.  He’s never seen such a large bird before.  He follows it but has to turn around to see it fly behind him.  By this time, though, it has disappeared.

“Where did it go?  Did it go in the cave?” he wonders. 

He gets up and squints at the cave and slowly starts to walk up.  Zigzagging up the side he glances down and notices how high he’s climbed.  “Wow,” he says as he chuckles to himself. 

The cave is on a face of a cliff, almost straight up and down, but he notices that he can walk around to it on a rock ledge.  As he works himself around he notices the numerous trees at the base of the cliff.  They are so tall that they almost reach the cave entrance. 

Carefully he inches himself around and finally reaches the cave entrance.  He notices a coolness emenating from the cave that as if seems to come out to greet him. 

“Not bad for an old man,” he says out loud, feeling a sense of accomplishment.   He then peers into the cave:  blackness.  He listens:  nothing.   Then he takes a step forward, then another.  The only sound he hears is his labored breathing.  Once he notices this he starts to feel tired.  “Maybe I should sit down and rest?” he thinks to himself, “I’ve done a lot for an old man”.

But, for some reason, he takes another step.

And then, suddenly, a bird with arms outstretched, as tall as a man, comes toward him, as if out of the blackness.  It cries out:  “cal-cal!”

Edgar hardly has time to react when a great gust of wind seems to blast him, hitting him in the front with such force that it takes him off his feet as he flies backward out of the cave. 

The next thing Edgar knew, he saw the cave entrance fly away from him. 

Then the tree branches came . . . with a rip and a tear they began to take chunks off of his body.  Looking upward, as he falls, he sees chunks of his body fly past him, along with the tree branches flipping by. 

He falls and falls . . . a lifetime, an eternity . . . as pieces of his body are slowly ripped off, piece by piece, whittling him down to . . . a small crystalline stone, all that falls to the ground at the base of the tree.

There the stone sat.  Alone, the stone seemed to sit for days . . .week’s . . . months . . . perhaps even years . . . who can say?  For the stone, time seemed to of stopped.

And then, one bright sunny day, out in the distance, a singing was heard faintly, barely audible.  It grew louder and louder until:  “What is that?” a young boy exclaimed. 

Crouching on his four legs he looks closely at the stone. 

“Wow!”

Slowly he picks it up with his dirty fingers, examining its details.  He notices that one part is crystalline and that you could see into it, much like glass.  Another part was opaque with wonderful colors that seemed to glisten in the sun.  He places it in his pouch at his side, and trots off happily.

For months he would often take out the stone whenever he was alone to admire its sparkle, its colors, and look into its mysterious depth.  He fancied that it had magical powers and could do miraculous things.  For hours he peered into its interior trying to find its secret, its heart. 

Then, one day, he gets this idea:  “I need to save this . . . protect it . . . no one must know . . . I’ll bury it in that special spot under the tree by the stream . . . that’s what I’ll do.  Then it will be safe forever.”

In a folded napkin he places, carefully folding the cloth so it is soft and snug in its secret place.  Gently, he puts the folded napkin in a small wooden box.  Underneath the tree, with his bare hands, he digs a hole . . . not too deep but deep enough.  In the earths caress he place the box.  Before he does, though, he takes a quick glance around.  “Good, no one is there.”  Its his secret remember!

Slowly he pushes the earth onto the box covering its existence, hiding it from all. Satisfied he places branches and leaves on the spot to hide it.

“Now it’s safe forever.  Only I know.”

But out from the distance is heard:  “Edgar!  Edgar!  It’s time to come home.”

Quickly he turns, gets up, and runs back toward his house.  The small house was comfortable enough.  No one had any complaints, least of all Edgar.  He hurriedly runs into the kitchen to eat his lunch and then . . . he trots off, ready for more adventure. 

Today, he decided to walk the pathway that he has always liked, the one that follows the stream to a lake.  Thinking back on the stone, all safe and sound, he felt at peace, nothing wrong with the world . . . only he knows his secret.

As he passed by a big boulder, which stood about 8 feet tall, he heard a voice:

“You’re not allowed around here.  This area is strictly off limits” the voice sound hoarse and rough.

“You silly boulder, you always say that.”  There was something about that boulder he never liked. 

As he walked along he felt like doing something else but he couldn’t decide what to do.

Passing by the stream it sang to him:  “Edgar your thoughts are a dream, your thoughts are a dream.  Speak of easy things and flow down the stream.”

“Ah, maybe I’ll ask the stream?” Edgar said.   Stopping, he says, “hey stream, what shall I do today?  I just can’t decide.  How is someone supposed to make such difficult decisions?”

“Father Forest, I know, is lonely,” replied the stream, “Why not make a visit?”

“All right!  Thanks again.  You always have good advice.”  He trots off, walking into the dark woods. 

“But where is Father Forest?” Edgar thought, “he’s  always moving around so much that I never know where he’s at.  I need to find that special spot he’s in I guess.”

Sitting on a rock he listens.  Often, if he listens hard, he can hear Father Forest and find out where he is at. 

“ I think I can . . . feel him,” he says, but only barely:  he’s not sure. 

 Sitting quietly he waits.  In the silence he searches.

“Wait a minute.   I know where he is.  He’s in the clearing under that big tree where I always lay on the grass.  I better hurry before he leaves.”

Off he goes on a run. 

As he approaches the spot he can hear a deep sounding voice, “there you are little one, there you are.”

Edgar slows.  “Thank goodness, I thought you would of left by now.”

“I am here always in the forest.”

“But I never know where . . . the forest is so huge, ” Edgar replies.

He walks up casually to his favourite grassy spot and lies down.

Edgar asks, “You know, I’ve always wondered what you look like.  Isn’t that weird?”

“Why do you ask?  You see my face every time you look out into the woods and every time you look out I see your face too.”

“I suppose you’re right.  It’s just another one of those weird thoughts I guess.”

“Perhaps so, perhaps you are ready.  Maybe it is time.”

“Hmm, what?” replies Edgar lazily.

“Have you ever sat in the woods and heard a strange cry in the distance?  It’s one of those cries that unnerves you, seems to make you feel uneasy,” asks Father Forest.

“Hmm, I guess I have.  Often, I think I hear something but can’t tell what it is.  It has this quality that . . . uh, I just don’t know.  It just seems like there’s something or . . . a . . . something.  Oh, I hate it.  Uh . . . I guess I seem to hear it there in the woods.  Sometimes it scares me.”

“I would like you to do something for me . . . can you listen for that?  When you hear it, follow it and go where it lies.  Do you think you can do that?”

“Why . . . is the thing that is making that noise bothering you?”

“Perhaps so . . . just see what it is for me.”

“If I hear it.  I don’t know when that will be though.  It won’t hurt me will it?”

“Just see what it is.”

Later, while walking homeward Edgar was bothered by what Father Forest said.  He actually began to get frightened.  I mean . . . what could it be?  As he walked along every noise and creek gave him a start and creeped into his bones.   He felt so alone out there all of a sudden.  He felt he had no friends, as if there was no one there to help him. 

“I’m starting to not like the woods anymore,” he thought, and he hurriedly rushed home.  This thought really bothered him as he loved the forest and he loved Father Forest, with all his heart.  He felt so ashamed saying that.  When he arrived home, he ran into his bedroom, jumped in his bed and covered himself up.  Soon, he had fallen asleep.

Next morning Edgar was sitting on a big old branch of a tree.  Edgar loved to sit on that branch.  The tree, he was a melancholy sort, though, but Edgar liked to cheer him up. 

“Can you itch my branch there on the bottom,” the tree asks.

Reaching down under the branch Edgar begins to scratch.  “There . . . is that it?”

“Yeah, that’s the spot.  I don’t know why but that’s been itching since I was a just a wee-seedling it seems.”

“Well, we got it.”

Edgar lays back on the branch.  Looking up he sees the clouds through the leaves.  Occasionally, the wind would rustle up the leaves messing up his view of the wonderful clouds.  But he didn’t seem to mind that day.

“Hmm . . . that’s weird,” Edgar says suddenly.

“What?” asks the tree.

“I don’t know.  It’s just weird.”

As he sat something seemed to creep into his breast, an agonizing something . . . a feeling.  Edgar finally says:  “I don’t feel too good all of a sudden.  I don’t know what it is.  Maybe I better go home.”

On his way back he felt more miserable.  What could cause such a horrible feeling?  Maybe it was something he ate?  Maybe he’s coming down with something?

As he walked past a wooded area the woods all of a sudden became incredibly dark.  It seemed very damp too and chilly.  And there was a stench of swamp gas.

“That’s weird.  I’ve never noticed this before.”

And then, out in the distance, he seemed to hear a noise.  He got scarred and began to run home.  Unfortunately, a rock seemed to jump in front of him tripping his fast-paced trot.  He fell right on his face.

“Ouch!”, he  cries out in pain, as he grasps his knee, which made a collision with the rock. 

Getting up, and grabbing his knee, he looked up and saw a quick image of something above him.  What it was he couldn’t tell.   It happened so fast he couldn’t even make out any shape or what it was.

Unnerved, he stands up cautiously and slowly makes a complete circle, looking of any hint of whatever it was. 

Nothing.

“That’s weird.  Maybe it was nothing?” or so he hoped.

Walking or, rather, limping along, he went through the thick brush and into the clearing.

“What?  Why do I seem lost?”

Looking around he had this sense he didn’t know where he was.  Nothing seemed familiar, not even the mountains in the distance.

“Which way do I go?  I thought I always come this way?”

And behind him he heard what seemed like a voice and a breeze seemed to follow its breath, pushing his hair in front of his eyes.

With a start he turned around.

In the distance, in amongst the trees, he saw . . . a fire!

He stood there as still as a tree.  What should he do?  What’s over there?  What would make a fire in the forest?

He began to move toward the fire . . . slowly, step by step.  He was very frightened.  Step by step he inched his way over.  Hiding behind a tree trunk he carefully looks into the distance to see what was there.

And then:

“Curious are we?” a voice says to his right.

Edgar was so startled that he fell to the ground.  Quickly he gets up and put his arm around the tree trunk, as if it would offer protection.  His arms shook with fear as he tried to get a good hold of that trunk.

“Huh, is that all you can do?” the voice said.

Looking up in terror he saw a man with a beard, just starting to go grey, in leather clothes.  

“What?  Do you really think I’m going to hurt you?  Get up.  Get up.”  He grabs him by the collar and pulls him up.

“So this is what an Edgar is.”

“How did you know my name?” asks Edgar.

“How did you know mine?” was the reply.

“But I don’t know your name.”

“Yes you do.”

“No . . . I don’t.”

“Hmm.  Why don’t you come by the fire?”

 Sitting uneasily, Edgar looks across the fire to look at the face of the man.  An older man . . . 40 . . . 50 . . . graying hair, a beard that wasn’t short but it wasn’t long either.  His grey eyes had a weird mania look in them.  There was a look of hardness with him.  His skin seemed hard and rough like bark.

The man peered into the fire as if mesmorized by it. 

“Ah, the soft glow of those embers,” he says, “like a soothing caress of a mothers arms.”

Edgar looks up and crinkled his forhead.

“Do you see?  Do you see?”

“See what?” was Edgar’s reply.

“Look into the fire.  It’s not any old fire.  It’s my fire.  I made it and I keep it going.  I can look at it all I want and have any one I want look at it too.”

“Seems no different than any other fire I’ve seen,” replied Edgar.

The fire crackled.  A few sparks flew past Edgar as he began to get uneasy about who the man was and where he was.

They sat in silence staring at that fire for quite a while.  Occasionally the man would throw a log onto it. 

Then the silence continued.

Uneasiness seemed to drown Edgar as the reality of the situation hit him.  What was he going to do?

Looking upward he suddenly saw the stars.  It’s night time already!  Glancing to the man, as if to ask him what he should do, he saw him staring into the fire with that same like a maniacal expression.  Edgar decided to be silent.  Occasionally his head would droop in slumber but the man kept with his expression peering into the fire.

“Well, that’s enough for today,” he says suddenly and lays down where he’s at.

Edgar, stunned, looks around in confusion.  He noticed that, beside the fire and the man, there was a leather backpack.  Nothing else.

The man then lay down on the earth, next to the fire, and starts to sleep, without blanket, pillow, and in the clothes he’s in.  Carefully, Edgar imitates the old man and lays next to him.  What else can poor Edgar do?

The sun seemed to reach its rays out to wake Edgar that next morning.  The brightness was almost too much.  Putting his hand over his eyes he remembered where he was.  Slowly he looked and saw the dirt and the remains of the fire, smouldering wisps of smoke.  But where the man was . . . nothing.

Quickly, he got up, startled and confused, and quickly looked around . . . no sign of the man.

Edgar started to become frightened and felt abandoned when, out of the forest, he could of swore he heard a voice:  “do you not see?”

Spinning around he saw nothing.  Then he glanced down at the fire and noticed there was still a flame.  Grabbing some small pieces of wood he begins to make a fire.  Soon he’s putting bigger logs on it.  One thing the fire did is it comfort him, something he needed at that moment. 

As he sat staring at the fire, at a loss of what to do, he heard the fire say, “. . . and so what are you’re plans?”

“What?  I didn’t know you can speak.” 

“Everything speaks, it’s all a question of understand its language.”

“I guess that makes sense.  Maybe you know . . . do you remember the man last night who made this fire?  Where did he go?”

“That’s a trivial detail, one of those facts that really don’t mean anything.”

“Really?”

“Yes, now if you really wanted to know something of what matters you would of asked  what he was looking at or, rather, for.”

“What was that?”

“What?”

“You said what he was looking for?”

“He was looking for something?”

“You said he was looking for something?”

“I did?”

Perplexed, Edgar gave up.  “I don’t know what to do,” he says.

“Do you not see?” the fire says.

“See what?”

The fire remained silent.  Edgar began to look at the fire.  Fire, he thought, was really interesting, how it glowed and flickered back and forth.  What was more interesting were the embers.  They sit and glow like some magical light.   He sat and looked.  The mesmorizing quality of the fire seemed to entrance him, for how long no one can say. 

For a long time he sits looking at the fire, carefully keeping it going and sleeping at its side.

One day, he stands up and looks down on the fire.  He seemed to tower above it.  How long has he been here?  How old is he?  His voice is deeper, his limbs longer.  He feels different.

“That’s weird.  How long have I been here?  It didn’t seem that long . . . or did it?  But I’ve grown so much.  How can that be?”

Up above a small voice was heard, “Edgar dear”.

Edgar looks up and notices a small robin.

 “I’ve seen you here staring so at the bright embers below.  Years have passed, too many to count, and without a budge, without a stir you sat.  The fire enslaved and enveloped your life, made you numb from head down to your toes.  Days passed, seasons passed, many lives lived their great tempetuous sagas and fell silent, but there you remained.   Silent, calm, peering so.  We marvelled at the passion of your heart,” the robin said.

“Do you not see?” he heard from the fire.

“I think I now see.  After staring so for so long at the fire I can see that there are many different forms of sight.  My physical eyes are only one form but, oh, there are more.  There are the interior eyes that see the interior nature of life.  The sight that comes from these eyes, I see, is the truest sight of life,” said Edgar all of a sudden.

“It’s time for you to go,” said the fire.

Edgar felt content with that and turned and walked away, his direction he did not care. 

After an hour or two Edgar has an impulse to climb a tree where he finds a nice branch to sit on.  Looking around, he still cannot determine where he’s at.  He leans back on the tree trunk and hums to himself.  He notices a squirrel scamper along a branch next to him.  He leans up to look and the slips and falls off the branch.

Then he seems to hit something, soft like outstretched cloth.  At first he thinks this breaks his fall but then he hears the sound of tearing cloth.  Soon he has fallen through!

 When Edgar hits the ground he notices he’s back by the playground laying on the bench. 

Looking at his hands he sees that they are his old hands, bent with age and arthritis.  Baffled, Edgar says to himself, “what just happened?”

Noticing that its late he goes back to the old folks home.  As he walks in he hears, “Edgar, is that you?!”  It’s his friend Jerry. 

“Who else would it be?”

“Where did you go . . . to some anti-aging place?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You, look younger.  You look very different.”

“Oh, I haven’t changed at all.”

“Maybe my eyes are getting worse,” replies Jerry as he walks off.

Later, many more people would remark on how young Edgar looked.  Getting back to his room, he had to look in the mirror.  As he gazed in the mirror the image seemed to be someone else but he knew it was him.  Sure, he was old but he looked young, sort of a youngish old.  Before he looked old old.  He couldn’t put it into words.  “I’m the same, but . . . different,” he thinks to himself, “I wonder what happened?”

The next day he sat out under that tree again.  He rested comfortably snug in its shade.  The tree seemed to talk to him as it shook in the light breeze.  He seemed to be at ease.

The bell rang loudly followed by the predictable swarm of little monkeys eager to play, yell, and laugh.   You know, for the first time, Edgar didn’t mind it at all.  For a few minutes he sat and watched the kids swinging and going down the slide.  And then a thought came upon him:  he never realized that he actually loved those kids.  He loved their play, their laughter, and such.  He never realized it until now.  That’s why he sat there.

And so, after a while, he stood up and slowly walked down to the playground and watched some kids swinging.  In a few minutes a kid yells out to him, “Hey mister!  Can you push me?”

He walks over and starts to push the kid.  Soon he was pushing all the kids.  And after that, he began to swing with the kids himself.   He began to compete with the kids to see who could get the highest.  He couldn’t beat Tommy, though, but he didn’t care.

Then he walked over to the slide and waited in line.  All the kids looked up at him mystified.  Finally, it was his turn.  As he spiralled down he gave a big “yahoo!” and laughed.

As the day ended he found he looked forward to the kids again.  He actually looked forward to little Nancy with her stuffed dog and the questions of Johnny.   He liked them both a lot.  But Troy, well, he’d like to slap him in the mouth and put him in his place.  He realized that, even this, harsh though it may seem, was nothing but love – a fathers love – to see that he becomes a decent person.  Troy only needed some direction and some disciplining.  He only wanted the kids to grow up to be descent people.

In the weeks that following he increasingly looked forward to that bell and playing with those kids.  He became so popular that one small girl called him “uncle grandpa”, a name that seemed to catch on.  He grew to cherish that name.  Soon, that’s what he called himself.

After awhile he didn’t mind going back to the old folk’s home.  He didn’t mind the food either.  More and more he talked to the people there and made many new friends.  “Old people,” he thought, “aren’t that bad”. 

One day, during the Christmas season, he sat and watched people visit many old people at the old folk’s home.  He was, as usual, left alone.  You know, he didn’t mind.  He didn’t feel depressed at all, but watched everyone else.   He watched and played with the kids too.  It became one of his better Christmases.

In many ways, he discovered that he had the best “family” of all . . . a good happy attitude and a good view on life.  Everything else just followed behind. 

One day, after play time, he was siting playing cars in the sand and says to the kids, “You  know, it took a whole life to find out what it was all about”.  None of the kids seemed to understand what he was saying.  Right then the bell rang and the kids ran into school.  Edgar got up and went to his room to lay down.  He felt a little tired that day. 

Sometime later, Edgar passed away in his sleep.  Everyone seemed to remark on how he seemed to have a smile on his face . . .

 ———-

Copyright by Mike Michelsen

“Mr. Clement tells his story”

“Mr. Clement tells his story” – a short story by Mike Michelsen

———-

THE LITTLE RIVER GAZETTE

**EXCLUSIVE**

MR. CLEMENT TELLS HIS STORY

June 21, 2012 -  John Richards, reporter.  Recently, the news has been filled with the claims of Roger Clement, 39, a lifelong resident of Little River.  The reader is no doubt already familiar with what has been circulating in the media about his claims, so I will not bore you with the details.  In general, the reaction is that his claims have been largely dismissed by most people.  Many people feel its a weird fancy created in his mind.  One person in particular, Hank Harrison of the Johnsonville Herald, feels convinced that its nothing but a publicity stunt, one man’s attempt to get attention.  Many people have even gone so far to say that he is mentally disturbed and should seek medical attention.  One Physican, Dr. Gerald Thomas of the South Valley Medical Center, has speculated that he may of developed amnesia and wandered off and somehow made it to China avoiding official channels.  In the process he developed this story in his mind to explain his situation to himself.  To most of the general population, though, he has become someone to mock and make fun of.  For example, in many schools here in Little River, the school children have begun to say that a person is “pulling a Clement” when someone is telling a tall tale.   In short, he has become the brunt of many jokes and has been viewed as something of a madman by many people. 

On first glance, his claims seems to be nothing but the product of someones wild imagination.  But there are many unanswered questions.  No one, for example, can explain how he got from Little River to China, half way around the world.  All attempts at trying to find any record of a plane or ship ticket have failed.  There is not even a record of any bus or taxi trip as well.  In addition, no one has so far recognized him.  There appears to be no record of his travelling to China.  Not even Chinese customs show him as ever entering China.  No one there has ever heard of him.  There has even been much speculation as to why he would of first made these claims in China, of all places.  In addition, his car was found parked at a trailhead, the very trail he claimed to be walking when the events described first began, which is about 18 miles from his home and in a secluded area of the forest.  If he left his car there then how did he get to China from there?

For me, personally, the questions and uncertainties attracted my curiosity.  It made me question that there may be more to his story than what it seems.  Because of this, I asked Mr. Clement to tell us his story and to give us an exclusive interview so that we can judge for ourselves the validity of his story.  Fortunately, I was able to contact him while still in China, shortly before he left for home.  While there he agreed to an interview with me on his return. 

The following is a transcript of that interview:

—

Exclusive Interview with Roger Clement

Interviewer -

There is much interest in you story here in Little River, as you now know.   You’ve become like a celebrity here, one of the few local boys who made world news.

Mr. Clement -

Yes . . . I saw all the people outside.

Interviewer -

Can you tell our readers, and the public, your complete story?

Mr. Clement –

Well, I’ve already told some of it before, while in China, as I’m sure you know, though I found that I left a lot of things out . . . my mind was just overwhelmed with things . . . besides, I was a nervous wreck . . . with all that happened and the situation I was in. . . not to mention finding myself in a foreign country like China, with no money . . . uh, where I didn’t know anyone, or anything . . . and . . . couldn’t speak a word.  That’s not a good feeling John, and its a situation that throws your whole world on its head.  In fact, these past some odd months . . . or weeks . . . or whatever, have turned my world upside down, and that’s no exaggeration either.

But, on the way back home, I had time to sort it out in my brain and a greater image came true, that’s more complete.  I could remember all these details and happenings that I did not mention before.  I think I’m prepared to give a more accurate version of the story . . .

Interveiwer -

Would you like to tell us yo . . .

Mr. Clement -

Certainly!  That’s what I’m here for.  You know, its hard for me to believe it when I think about it.  I sometimes wonder if it was a dream? 

It was on May 29 . . .

Interviewer –

About three weeks ago, I believe.

Mr. Clement -

Uh, yeah . . . yeah, I guess that’s about right.  Seems an eternity ago to me . . . seems so unreal . . . Sometimes I wonder if some of those people are right.  Maybe it was a dream?  Maybe its insanity?  You don’t know how many times I wondered this  . . maybe I even hit my head somewhere? 

But, when I found that necklace . . .

Interviewer -

Necklace!  I don’t recall any mention of a necklace.

Mr. Clement -

I never mentioned it.  Oddly, I forgot about it.  I found it by accident . . . on the way home. . . I just forgot . . . can’t imagine why.   But more of that later. 

Where was I?  Oh!  May 29 . . . I went for a walk in the woods.   Nice day, sunny, a few puffs of clouds, birds chirping . . . a nice day for a walk.  Everything so bright.  So relaxing too.  After some walking I decided to stop and take a rest by this small stream.  It was sort in a steep valley with walls that went almost straight up, oh, 80 degree’s on both sides.  I could here the water echoing in the valley.  Very nice and cool.  I could feel the spray on my face. 

Anyways, while I was bending down and washing my face with water from the stream I heard a muffled voice.  I stopped and listened . . . nothing.  So I picked up some more water and splashed it on my face.  There it was again!  I stopped and listened.  I could hear something.  I wondered what it was.  I heard it again. 

I stood up and determined it was coming from behind me, down the valley a ways.  I slowly walked down and could hear it, like muffled voices, but they were unlike any voices I have ever heard.  I walked down further and saw that they voices were coming from a small valley to my left that was coming into this valley.  It was so narrow I could almost touch both sides with my hands.  I peered down the valley.  There were many bushes, and overgrowth, and an overhanging tree that made it so dark that you couldn’t see down it very well.  It seemed to abruptly end under the tree somewhere.  The small stream coming out must be a spring.  Of course, I had to go see.  I bent down and felt the water . . . cold and clean.  I knew it had to be a spring. 

I then could make out the voices, ” . . . way it is.  You went out now blubberhead.  You did your thing.  When are you going to close the door?  If they find out you left it open . . . “  “But, but, I didn’t mean to . . .”. 

I walked and walked, crouching below the overgrowth.  It got dark . . . and cold and damp.  The next thing I knew I fell.

Interviewer -

You mean you tripped?

Mr. Clement -

No, I fell . . . and I fell in a most peculiar way.  I fell UP!

Interviewer -

What do you mean you fell up?

Mr. Clement -

I tell you I fell up.  Unstead of falling toward the ground I fell up toward the sky.  I know its hard to believe but I did.  It was even weirder feeling it.  I was expecting my body to hit the ground on one side of my body but it hit on the opposite side.  That, I tell you, was the most weirdest feeling.

Buts whats even more weird is that I fell up . . . and hit ground!

Interviewer -

Ground . . . you mean earth?

Mr. Clement –

Earth!  After I hit the ground I felt around.  I could feel the soil. 

I looked around and it seemed like everything was still sort of dark.  At first I wondered if some storm clouds had rolled in.  I looked toward the sky and it was this dark bluish color . . . no sun!  This all so mystified me. 

Then I noticed the air.  It seemed to be, I don’t know how to describe it, thinner?  It also seemed cooler and damp.  I found myself taking deeper breaths, inhaling very deeply. 

While I was doing this I noticed that the voices were still going on. ” . . . gone down.  Don’t worry.  You don’t see the underworld anymore . . . doors sealed shut.”  “If they found out . . . “ 

At this point I found myself feeling light headed.  I inhaled more and more deeply.  I felt as if I couldn’t catch my breath.  I felt weak, layed flat on the ground . . . apparently, I passed out.

Interviewer -

This is a part of the story I have never heard.

Mr. Clement -

Yes, I remembered it all on the way back home . . . and there’s a lot more I remembered too. 

Anyways, I must of passed out.   When I awoke I was in a dark damp cave with only a single candle in the distance.  It was a little chilly, I remember, and I folded my arms to try to keep warm.  I noticed that I felt a little sick and I seemed to still be inhaling deeply. 

Then I heard a noise . . . something was there in the darkness.  I thought I saw two flashes in the darkness, like the reflections of someones eyes. 

Then I heard movement and several soft ‘thumps’ of footsteps, as if from something very heavy.  I was petrified. 

“Oh, look at that, my pet underworlder is awake.” 

I stared into the darkness . . . I could occasionally make out the image of two eyes but I could not say for sure. 

Then I noticed this horrid stench, like garbage . . . but I was too frightened to give that too much notice. 

“I’m going to name you Bampy, after my favourite hero”. 

Then I heard faint voices in the distance.  And then it said, “Oh be quiet . . . I’m not supposed to have you.  No one is supposed to have an underworlder.  You’re my little secret.” 

Then I heard, “Kaffe, where are you?” 

“I’m coming!” was the reply. 

What was all this? 

I felt around and noticed I was in a small cage made out of wood, lashed together with what seemed to be a twine or grass.  I sat there stunned.  I didn’t know what to do.  I don’t know how long I sat there . . . it seemed like hours.  My mind was as if unable to comprehend this.  Then I heard the thumps again and they got louder and stopped. 

“Hey there, little fella,” I heard, “brought you some food”.  I heard something fall in front of me.  Faintly, in the dim light, I could see something piled in the cage.  Then the thumps started and receded away. 

I reached out for the pile.  My hand went out into a lumpy goo of something.  I pulled my hand back and smelled my hand.  It smelt like rotten fish.  I put out my tongue and got a small taste . . . I never tasted anything so horrid in my life.  I knew that I had to get away. 

Quickly, I began to find the lashing of the cage and tried to pull it apart.  Since it was made out of grass . . . or, at least, I think it was . . . I was able to slowly tear it apart.  It took maybe half an hour.  When I got that done I could only push the branch a foot or so.  I couldn’t reach the lashing up above.  I then started to tear the next one apart then the next one.  After about four hours, or so, I was able to get on my side and roll out under the branches. 

I was free! 

I must tell you that this was now the most frightening time of my life.  I was now an ‘escapee’ in a dark cave with creatures I have not seen.  Where do I go?  Which ways out?  I was so scared I felt like going back into my cage.  But, I looked at the small candle in the distance.  The darkness seemed to surround me and engulf me.  I had to get out.  I did what I had to do.  I reached out with my arms and took small steps.  Once I hit a wall I walked along it, taking small steps as I go.  The wall was cold and damp stone.  Inch by inch I made my way around til I found what appeared to be a doorway.  I walked and walked.  Every so often I’d hear the ‘thumps’ and murmured voices.

Interviewer -

What did they say?

Mr. Clement -

You know, I really don’t know.  I guess I was too worried about being found out.  I wanted to get out of their as fast as I could. 

Anyways, as I inched along I felt like the edge of leather along the wall, as if there was a drap hanging on the wall, which is what I thought it was.  As I kept going I noticed the noise changed and, seemed to get more quieter, and then, all of a sudden, I hit something . . . not sure what it was.  I felt around trying to find out what it was but got disoriented.  I soon found that it was a dead end, it was closed on three sides.  I then made my way back, going the same way I came when I heard the ‘thump’, ‘thump’. 

Then, all of a sudden, the floor was as if swept up from beneath me.  I found myself on my back on some things, which I could not make out.  I seemed to be moving in space.  I was completely disoriented in the darkness.  I just tried to hold on as I seemed to be swaying back and forth.  Then I glanced upward and noticed open sky, that dark blue sunless sky . . . I was outside!  It was a wonderful feeling.  But where was I?  There was no cause to get too joyous about it. 

Then, something came through the opening, big and hairy.  I layed there petrified.  I thought this was it.  Then it landed on me.  I thought it would attack me but it didn’t move at all.  After some time I discovered it was a dead goat. 

What was going on? 

Then, as suddenly as I was swept in motion, I stopped.  I heard murmurs.  As near as I can tell they said, “I put a snack in your knapsack.  Don’t forget.” 

Then I heard wheels rolling on rocks and I began to jostle back and forth.  Luckily, with the jostling the opening of the leather bag I was in, for thats what I could tell I was in, started to go sideways, allowing me walk out the entrance.  I found myself in the rear of a wooden wagon, a rather large wooden wagon.  It was maybe 20 feet wide.  I looked up and saw the rear of some creature, shaped somewhat like a man, but big, about 10 feet high.  He was large, blackish, and with rough skin.  What it was I had no idea.

Interviewer -

Are you sure it was a man?  There’s no known creature like that.

Mr. Clement -

I don’t know what it was . . . I still don’t.  I sat there in the back of the wagon for a bit, I guess soaking up the situation.  Now, at last, I had an idea what was going on.  There was a satisfaction in that and, more importantly, I knew I was somewhat safe, at least for the moment. 

Every so often, the creature would make these weirdest noise as he pulled up some phlegm and spit.  At one point, it was so funny I almost laughed outloud.  I guess that shows how relaxed I became.  As I think of it now, there was a wonderful calm and peacefullness, which is sort of odd. 

But, after about 30 minutes, I looked around to determine how I could get off.  I noticed that the wagen had all sorts of stuff in it, various bags, boxes, an axe, a hammer . . . and me!  The sides were about 5 feet high.  I sneeked a peak over and so the ground going past very quickly.  Not only that, the ground was 20 or so feet down.  I didn’t dare jump off.  I just stood there wondering what to do.  I found myself looking around at where I was at.  It was a mountainous area and wooded.  The sky was still this dark bluish color.  I never saw a sun . . . I was to find out later that there was no sun.

Interviewer -

How did they see then?  I mean, where did the light come from?

Mr. Clement -

I was to learn later that there was this great diamond, jewel, or emerald, the size of a mountain, that emitted the light.  It was called the Kolnel or, more commonly, the Bright Source.  As you’ll see I was able to see this and it would play a big part in this story.  The closer you got to it the brighter it got.  In fact, it got so bright that there was a point where no living thing could go, the brightness was just too much.  The closest you could look at it is from a distance of about 10 or 20 miles.  It was always glowing so there is never any night.  This, actually, became hard for me to adjust to as I could not tell when to go to sleep.  After some time, I was able to adjust to the sleep patterns of the inhabitants.  I’m not sure but it seemed similar to our sleep pattern.

Interviewer -

That’s interesting.

Mr. Clement -

I’ll tell you about all that latter.  As I sat leaning against the side of the wagon, swaying back and forth, I looked up ahead and noticed these buildings . . . homes and shops.  We were approaching a town. 

With this, I paniced.  Now what was I going to do?  I was stuck in the back of a wagon.  I didn’t feel I should get in the knapsack again.  There’s only one choice:  hide amidst all the other stuff.  I quickly wedged myself between two bags and a box.  Hopefully, he won’t look there. 

As we approached the town the noise got louder, wagons, people, and who knows what else, and the smell!  I wanted so much to take a look but didn’t dare. 

Soon the wagon stopped.

I heard him walk around and I saw, in the gap between the sacks, that he grabbed the knapsack.  I then heard his thumps diminish. 

Quickly, I got out and carefully looked around.   We were next to a large home or shop, I couldn’t tell.  Luckily, it was on a side road.  I looked around and quickly mounted the side of the wagon and hung from the side as I tried to put my feet on the wheel.  I then let go and pushed myself onto the ground.  I then ran to the side of one of the walls and took a quick glance in all directions.  I noticed the single large horse, or I guess that’s what it was, that pulled the wagon.  It looked old and decrepid, just like the creatures.  As I did before, I sort of inched my way along.  I could hear where the main road was so I walked away from it.  Then I was on the edge of the forest.  I ran into it as fast as I could.

Interviewer -

How big was of a town was it?  I mean, how much area did it take?

Mr. Clement -

I don’t know.  What I saw was that it was at least half a mile long.  Remember that I was small.  The creatures were about twice as tall as I am, so everything was twice as big.  I felt like a kid in there.  As a result, the homes were quite tall.  It was like being in a city, in a way.  I couldn’t get a good view of it all. 

Anyways, after I made it to the forest I ran into the woods.  I ran and ran until I got tired and started to walk.  Soon I was by this small quiet expanse of a river.  I had to take a rest.  I sat on the ground and looked around.  Everything seemed darkish and black and wet. 

It was here that I began to feel a terror.  Now what was I going to do.  I don’t know where I am.  I don’t know what to eat.  What do I do?  Because there was a flat area of ground I decided to make a fire and get some leaves to make a bed on the ground.  I made the fire and sat by it.  All I could hear was the crackle of the fire and bugs flying to and fro.  As the fire died down I layed down and dozed off. 

Then it happened! 

I heard the ground shake:  varoom, varoom.  I woke up and sat up in a flash.  It was getting louder and louder.  I sat petrified, unable to move, and looked around.  I heard something, a noise, leaves being moved, the breaking of twigs.  My heart fluttered in terror. 

What was it? 

Then it came:  a small creature about 4 feet tall, and somewhat plump, with a wide-brimmed hat and a leather apron.  My first reaction was startlement.  How could he make the big vibrations.  Then, with a shrill voice, he yelled, “RRUUNN!!”  Stunned, I sat there motionless as he passed by.  I seemed to utter, “what?” 

Then I heard it:  varoom, varoom. 

I didn’t hear the cracking of twigs, anymore, but branches breaking.  Quickly, without a thought, I stood up and followed the small creature.  I kept losing it in the thick brush but, every so often, I’d see his head bob up to keep my bearings.  My heart seemed to pound.  I found myself wet with sweat.  I don’t know how far we ran, seems like it was 100 miles, but I saw him duck into a hole in a tree.  And so, off I went, and tried to get in the hole but I seemed a little big. 

I was stuck. 

Behind me I could hear it:  varoom, varoom.  I knew I had to get in, I squeezed and squirmed til I found myself inside.

Interviewer -

It must of been a big tree.

Mr. Clement -

It was probably 5 feet in diameter at the base.  The hole was only about 24″ wide, or thereabouts.  But what was weird is that the inside was bigger than the outside!

Interviewer -

Is that possible?

Mr. Clement -

I saw it, I tell you, I was in it.  After squeezing myself in, and scraping up my arms, I found myself in what resembled a large hall at the base of the tree.  Looking up, I could see upward into the inside of the tree.  I could see various openings going in all the different directions.  I wondered what to do?  I decided to sit there for a bit and catch my breath. 

I must of been tired as I dozed off again.

When I woke up the air seemed damp and thick.  I found myself coughing from time to time.  As I coughed I could hear it echo.  This gave me the idea of listening down each passageway.  So I layed on my front and listened.  There were, I think, nine passageways.  Three had noises in them.  Only one I could make it out:  music!

Interviewer -

Music?

Mr. Clement -

Sounded like a flute but I wasn’t sure.  Well, I felt this would be the best way to go.  The small creature helped me before so maybe he’d help me again.  That’s what I hoped. 

I had to stoop down the passageway.  It was actually about four and a half or five feet in diameter, like a hole burrowed in the ground.  I walked for maybe 30 feet and saw up ahead a light.  As I got closer I could see that it was coming through cracks around a wooden door.  I then found myself in front of the door. 

I could here it clearly now, a weird mesmorizing flute playing a haunting-like tune.  Actually, it was very good. 

I sat there and wondered what to do.  How I handle the next event could critical.  I sat and wondered as I listened to the flute music.  It seemed to as if put me in a half-trance as I thought about what to do. 

Should I just walk in?  No.  Should I knock?  How should I respond when its opened?  Maybe I could barge in?  Or, maybe I should just sit here?  I didn’t know what to do.  My mind was a blank as the music seemed to infiltrate me and seep into every pore.  I don’t know how long I sat there. 

But then it stopped. 

With that I actually seemed to as if wake up from a trance and sat up as alert as can be.

Now what? 

The next thing I knew the door opened and a great wave of light flooded my eyes.  I put up my arms to shield the light. 

“You could of knocked”, it said, for I still couldn’t see it.  Everytime I looked the light blinded me. 

“I . . . I was going to”.  I then added, “is it OK . . . I mean, my being here?” 

“What?!  Silly question.  Have some tea.  I could hear you breathing on the other side of the door for the past quarter of an hour.” 

With this I slowly put my arm down and squinted.  I saw a brightly lit room as if dug out of the ground.  Chairs and furniture were hewn out of solid pieces of wood.  The walls were covered in a cloth and a carpet covered the floor.  Lanterns hung from the ceiling.  On one wall I could see what seemed like a fireplace with a kettle on it, boiling in fact. 

I then looked at my host.  As I said, he was a small creature, chubby.  This time he had no hat on and could see his dark black head of hair.  His face was plump with a wide mouth and almost growing a beard.  His skin was a greenish blackish color.  He had a jolly like character with a big smile. 

“Come in, come in, you might as well.” 

The wooden seats he had were a bit too narrow for me so I sat on the floor.  “So, how you been keeping time?” he said to me. 

“What?  With a watch . . . why?” 

“Oh”, he said as if disappointed. 

And then, in a frank way, I said, “Where am I?” 

“You are here, in my bungalow.” 

“But where is here?” 

“Under the tree named Tesk.” 

“But where is that?” 

“Its in the forest.” 

“I don’t think you understand me.”  Then I reflected:  how was I going to tell him that I come from some other world.  I became stumped.  Where do I go with my conversation now? 

“Try some tea. It will calm you after being chased by the Hermer . . . you’re still dishevelled, I can see that.” 

I then took a sip.  It tasted like oak leaves with a hint of honey and mint.  He was right, though, it was soothing.  I seemed to calm right down and not say a word. 

“Don’t bother”, he said as he picked up the flute.  He began to play a few tunes rather haphazardly, as if he was just playing around. 

“Tune . . . what tune?  Oh, the difficulty.  The wrong tune can ruin everything.  The wrong timing and ‘woosh’.  Better no tune than the wrong tune, I always say.”  I didn’t have a clue what he meant.

Interviewer –

He seemed friendly.

Mr. Clement -

Yes, in fact, he sort of saved me.  I am greatly indebted to him.

Interviewer -

Did he have a name?

Mr. Clement -

You know, he never said what his name was.  I often heard him refer to himself as Tesk’s Warden.

Interviewer -

Tesk is the name of the tree he was living under . . .

Mr. Clement -

Yes.  

In the growing days I would watch him take off down the different passageways from time to time.  One day, I followed him.  He went down one of the passageways quite a ways.  He carried a bag with him as he did so.  At a certain point, the passageway opened up and you could see all these roots exposed.  He then took out a brush and opened a jar and started to brush the roots! 

Why, I don’t know. 

What he’d do is dig around the roots, exposing them.  Then he’d scrub them really good, and then cover them up with dirt again.  As he exposed the roots of one section he would throw the dirt on the scrubbed section and he’d work his way down the roots.  Many passageways went down to many roots and he would do many different roots in a day.  It was all so very weird.

Interviewer -

Didn’t you ask him?

Mr. Clement –

I didn’t dare.  I was his guest and felt it was too imposing.  Besides, he hardly spoke.  We’d sit in his little bungalow for hours and he wouldn’t say a word.  I’d ask him questions or make conversations and he’d have weird replies.

Interviewer –

In what way?

Mr. Clement -

Once I did ask him what he did when he left.  His reply was “furrowing down the path, making haste, making haste”.  What he did, exactly, and who he was I do not know.

Interviewer -

How long were you with him?

Mr. Clement -

A month or two it seems. 

It was the same all the time.  He’d wake up, have tea and breakfast, leave for most of the day, come back for tea and lunch, leave again, come back for dinner and tea, and sit and play his flute.

Interviewer -

What did you and he eat?

Mr. Clement -

I don’t know for sure.  It varied though.  A lot of it tasted like wood, leaves, or moss.  I also know we had eggs.  The tea varied, tasting of different types of trees. 

But, I couldn’t just sit there in his room all day or follow him around.  I decided to go outside one day. 

I slowly squirmed my way out of the hole I came in and looked around.  There was a wonderful light cool breeze but the same dark bluish sky. 

But, when I looked around, the hole was gone! 

I reached down and tried to dig the ground as if to find the hole. 

There was no hole! 

I didn’t know what to make of it.  But, more importantly, I lost the security and a safety I felt with Tesk’s Warden.  In a single second it was all gone! 

I stood there bewildered. 

And then I heard a voice, ” . . . so you’re the underworlder” 

It came from above, in the tree.  I could see something in the leaves but couldn’t make it out. 

” . . . so you’re the underworlder.” 

“What?  Who is that?” 

Then he said in a diminished tone, as if walking away, ” . . . so you’re the underworlder.” 

I could then tell he had left.  I didn’t know what to make of that.  Then I looked around and noticed that I was completely alone in these woods with no idea where I was or which direction to go, and with no one to help me.  I realized that the only thing I knew just left . . . and he called me an ‘underworlder’, as if he knew who I was. 

Almost immediately, I yelled, “Come back!  Come back!” and I chased after him.  I ran for maybe a 100 feet and stopped. 

Where did he go?  I sat and listened . . . nothing.  I just began to walk slowly, what else was there to do?  I was hoping I’d hear him somewhere in the woods.  Then I heard something and turned around.  Was it a broken twig?  I couldn’t say. 

Then I heard, ” . . . so you’re the underworlder” and turned around. 

There, standing upon a rock, was this tall skinny man, with a long beard.  He seemed to be dressed in old skins that looks like they had been on him for years.  His face and skin was filthy.  I could slilghtly detect a stench coming from his direction. 

” . . . underworlder?”, I asked. 

“You are!”, was his reply as if he made a big discovery, “I’ve never seen an underworlder.” 

“What’s an underworlder?” I asked.

“You’re from down below, in the lower regions, come up from the depths of that hell.” 

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.  I’m from -”.  At this point I could not determine what to say.  How could I say where I was from when I didn’t know where I was at?  I stuttered, “I’m from . . . home.” 

He looked at me so closely that his eyes seemed to pierce my very soul. 

“Yes, I know.  I knew you were here, I could smell you.”  I winced and felt baffled at this statement. 

” . . . that underworld smell.  I’ve smelt it before, when I stood near the doorways.  Yes, I stood in front of the doorway and peered into that world . . . yes, much in my youth.”

To be frank, I was at a loss.  I didn’t know what to do or where to take the conversation. 

He jumped off the rock and said, “So I guess you’re wanting to get back?” and started walking through the bushes. 

“That would be nice.”  I figured I better follow him.

He just kept walking and walking.  I had to almost run to keep up.  I finally said, “do you know how I am to go back?”

“A doorway, just find a doorway,” was his reply.

“But what doorway”, I said. 

“The same way you came in, what do you think?” 

I told him that the problem is that I don’t know how I came in.  I just found myself here.  Not only that, I don’t know where it was anyways. 

Then he said, “oh, I just realized . . . you need someone to open the door.  There’s NO WAY someone LIKE YOU is going to OPEN a DOORWAY.”  He said this in a degrading sort of way. 

“But who could?” I replied.

He told me that he would if he knew how.  Then he went on about his childhood how they used to watch people open the doors and look out.  That’s when he used to hang around the Ezrils.  “They know how,” he says. 

“But where are they at?”

“Uh, over in the Dark Glade valley . . . yeah, there’s a lot of them there.”

After some time, and about a 10 mile walk it seemed, he finally agreed to take me to them, but in a few weeks, as he had to “graze”, to use his expression.  In the meantime, I would have to stay with him so that “I, an underworlder, would not get lost”. 

Those few weeks weren’t easy.  We wandered almost continuasly through the forest.  We slept out in the open, where it often got cold and, a few times, rained.  He was like a deer wandering around continuously for food.  Whenever he saw food he would stop and eat it directly off the bush.  He also spent a lot of time lounging around, that is, when he wasn’t wandering and eating.  It occurred to me that he was very much like a deer and jokingly called him the “deer” in my head, as he never told me his name. 

And then, one day, while wandering around, he just pointed in a specific direction, and said, “there, there is a village of Ezrils.” 

I looked out and saw what looked like a miniature city in a walled in area.   When I first looked at it I thought it was just the perspective that made them look small or that it was an optical illusion but, no, it was a minature city.  They were only about two feet tall.  They had small homes, shops, and such.  They were very nicely constructed.  As we walked down I noticed how incredibly large the walls were, probably 15 feet tall. 

When we reached the gate he banged on the gate.  Almost immediately, a small opening opened in the gate where I could barely make out a face framed in its shape. 

The ‘deer’ said, “he needs to see Poolo” and walked away. 

There I stood alone in front of a gate with no idea who or what I was going to see.  Not a good bye, not a nice to know ya, or anything. 

“Who’s asking?” I heard the voice say.

“Uh . . . me.”

“Hold on.” 

I felt so uneasy of what was going to happen that I turned around and looked for the ‘deer’ and I could see him some 300 feet away, eating some berries off a tree, as if nothing was going on. 

I waited at the gate for about 15 minutes, and kept glancing at the ‘deer’ hoping he’d come back and help me in some way.  I could also feel my gut churning from all the berries I had eaten the past week.  

Then I hear a ‘falup’ and a ‘creek’.  I looked and saw the door opening.   I quickly stood up and waited.  The door was only about 4 feet tall.  A man walked out.  He stood about 2 feet, with blond hair and what looked like a suit and tie, colored purple with a velvet trim.  I thought it odd to see that here out in the forest. 

In a deep voice he said, “Yeeees.”  At first I was stunned but I figured I should say something. 

“I’m supposed to see Poolo or Pooplo . . . “

“Yeeees,” was the reply. 

“Are you him?”

“Yeeees,” was the reply.

“I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to do but a man told me I should ask for you to open a doorway.”

“Yeeees, I have opened a doorway, this doorway.”

“No, I mean a doorway to the underworld.”

His face went blank and cold.  I thought he was going to go straight back in and leave me out here. 

“What do you have to do with the underworld?”

“I, apparently, am from the underworld.”

“You don’t look like your from around here . . . but the underworld?  That’s hard to believe.”  He went on to say that when underworlders come in the Bosin Hounds chase them down and kill them.  He said that there’s no way I could of escaped them.  They can sniff an underworlder down like they were nothing.  He said that it usually only takes a matter of minutes before they are caught and killed.  But, I told him that I must of got passed them . . . whatever they are. 

Interviewer -

Did they mean hound dogs?

Mr. Clement -

They were, in fact, hound dogs . . . three of them . . . as I’ll tell you later.  But once he told me this I became frightened because it basically I am now a hunted person.  Somewhere out there are some hounds that can smell me, chase me down, and kill me.  I felt like an outlaw.  To be frank, I grew terrified and didn’t want to be in the forest anymore. 

He seemed to be gazing at me wondering what to do.  He asked me if I had a place to stay.  Of course, I said no.  He offered me a place inside the walls where he said it would be safe.  This was a great relief to me and I was hoping he would say this. 

He then went through the door.  I had to get on my hands and knees to get through.  When I finally stood up inside the walled area it was like toyland.  Miniature people, minature homes, miniature wagons, miniature tools.  The horses were actually dogs!  I followed him through the main road.  As I walked along everyone stopped and looked as the ‘giant’ went by but they did not seemed alarmed by me at all. 

We then went into a large building, apparently a palace.  The door was large enough that I only had to stoop a little.  Inside was incredibly spacious and ornate. It opened to a large hall with columns on either side.  Naturally, everyone in there stopped and looked as I entered.  Then, after a few seconds, went on their way. 

I followed Poolo who walked toward a group of, maybe, five people who were talking.  It was there that I first saw the man who would be very instrumental in the upcoming events.  He seemed nothing spectacular at the time.  He was talking to several other people.  He looked tall and skinny, even though he was about one foot nine inches, a little shorter than most people there.  He was introduced to me as Jogl and was supposed to be the ‘Conniver’, whatever that was.  I often wondered if it was sort of a public relations man.

After Poolo spoke with him abit, Jogl looked up at me and told me to follow him.  He took me to this room that had some large padding on the floor, making something like a bed.  Apparently, they’ve had visitors my size before.  He told me he’d get something for me to eat.  I just sat in the room and waited.  There was nothing else to do.  I looked around the room.  Everything was in miniature.  Everything was made for their size.  There was a desk, chair, and sofa, but they were too small for me to use.  The only thing I could really use was the large padding, which I sat on. 

After some time they brought in some food.  I think it was some sort of beef, though it tasted different – I wondered if it was dog – and vegetables and some sort of a fruit juice.  Since I was bigger they gave me larger portions and actually put the food on what looked like their serving plates.  They did not have any fork, spoon, or knife that were my size so I had to use theres.  It was not easy cutting things with a fork and knife half-size.  I had nothing but difficulty trying to keep grasp of the knife, especially, as it kept slipping out of my fingers.  

The meat was a little bland and tasted blah.  I wanted to see if they might have any pepper to make it more palatable.  I got up and stooped and walked out the door.  The place seemed eerily deserted and quiet.  It was almost as if everyone left me there by myself.  I decided to walk around until I found someone.  As I walked I was amazed by all the artwork, sculpture, and painting on the walls.  This appeared to be a palace of sorts.  At certain points I had to stoop or get on my hands and knees to go through the hallways.  It made me feel like a kid at play.  The more I looked the more I had to see and I continued wandering around.  It was actually quite a large building.  Oddly, I never saw a soul.  

Then, as I was crawling through a passageway, I heard a pounding.  It was coming from the other side of the wall.  Since it was the only sign of life I put my ear to the wall.  I could hear muffled voices.  I figured I’d go in and ask those people for pepper.  I crawled along abit and found the door around the corner.  When I was about to knock I could hear the muffled voices.  There was a strange quality with the voices.  Slowly, I opened the door just a crack. 

Inside, I saw several men, one of which was Jogl.  One of them was pounding a piece of metal.  They seemed to be trying to bend it to a particular shape.  They seemed to be in quite a debate on how it should be bent.  I recall some of the conversation:  “No! No! No! That won’t do.  It needs to be curved so it will dig in.”  “But you curved it too deep . . we don’t need it that curved.”  “How will we grasp it then?”

Then Jogl added an unusual statement:  ”Either way, I often feel we are going in over our heads.  Do we really know what we are doing?”

“Who does?” another man replied, ”no one ever does.  A person has to go to whatever they got to do.”

I got to admit that I had this feeling that they were planning on something like robbing a bank, something forbidden, but what it could be I could not say.  It was actually sort of exciting.  But, I didn’t want to be found out so I decided to close the door and leave. 

The next morning I decided to talk to Jogl to get closer to him and, I must admit, to see if I can figure out what was going on.  I guess I was getting a little ‘nosy’.  As I talked to him, though, I found him to be a very a friendly, agreeable man, and we seemed to get along. 

At one point I told him I was an underworlder.  He stepped back and looked at me with apprehension. 

“What, that’s not possible,” and he quickly looked around in terror. 

“Why is that?” I asked. 

“Underworlders are always hunted down and killed, not unless . . . “

“Unless what?” I asked.

He seemed hesitant to tell me.  After some prying he went on to say that it was amazing I got this far. 

“Underworlders have always been a threat to us, a great pestilence”, he said. 

“But why would that be?” I asked, ”Why would we be such a threat?”

“Whenever the underworlders came here they created problems for us.  The underworlders are a special breed of animal.  They do not have a place here and don’t belong.  In our world they don’t seem to know what they are or who they are.  They have nowhere to go and nothing to belong to.  Because of this, they keep going places they shouldn’t.  They wander around like lost wild beasts trying to find their home.  I’ve never seen any other creature that is like that.  To have the underworlders have free reign here would probably destroy this place.  We still tell the story of the Battle of Quimleau where a number of underworlders came down and we had to fight them.  At first, they weren’t a problem, but that soon changed.  They became as if disoriented down here and lost, as if delirious.  They wandered and roved around the place.  Everywhere they went they seemed to destroy or disrupt everything.  This caused a great battle between them and the people here.  Despite their being outnumbered they still won.  It was then that Numer, The Great Lord at the time, took his large hounds and trained them to sniff them down and kill them.  With these hounds, they were finally defeated.  But even that was not enough.  Over the years, many underworlders came down and caused disruption here.  They were impinging on our world.  It became clear that their world was not our world and we needed to separate them from us.  At the Council of Koomray, the sorcerer Feltsper suggested that he make up a concoction, some special brew that he had created.  He would release it into the air in the underworld.  There it acted like a drug.  It would affect their brain, restricting their thinking and awareness.  He originally created it so that they would not be aware of this world.  As a result, they would not want to come here.  But it had some weird side effects.  It made the underworlders think certain things and have certain beliefs.  They began to think very logically and analyze everything, for example.  They also began to see strange things that aren’t there.  They thought there was a sun, they thought their world is a sphere, they also thought that they originated from fish, and other things.  It caused all sorts of weird things in their world but it kept them out of ours.  Feltsper called this drug Dilaphraceous.   Not only that, The Great Lord put special guardians at the doorway to the underworld . . . us, the Ezrils!  Between the gas, the guardians, and the hounds, we’ve had no problem with underworlders since.”

“So you’re saying that all of humanity – I mean, the underworlders – have been drugged by this Diapranasseas . . . “

“Dilaphraceous . . . yes.  All the underworlders are drugged.”

“That’s hard to believe.  How can our whole world be drugged?”

“Feltsper did it, but he took its secret to the grave.  The legend is that this drug is supposed to be slowly emitted from thousands of blocks of Dilaphraceous that he placed throughout the underworld.  They say it looked like a greenish black stone about the size of an eighteen inch cube.  He buried them at various places in the underworld but no one knows where.  Slowly, over time, the blocks of Dilaphraceous would emit this gas until it was all gone.  He claimed it will last about 10,000 years.”

“How long ago was that?” I asked.

“I believe about 4,000 years ago.  During that time generations of hounds have been taught to hunt down underworlders and we Ezrils have been taught to guard the doorways.  But, how could you of gotten through a doorway?  You didn’t come from one of ours?  Unless . . . there are stories of hidden unknown doorways.  I guess its possible.  There’s even stories that some people build doorways in the hope the underworlders will come and disrupt things.  But is it true?”  He then looked at me with a deep look and said, ” . . . perhaps you’re proof?  But, perhaps there’s something else wrong?”  With great authority he then spoke, “In a few days time, we are planning on going to The Great Lord for a conference.  Perhaps you should come?  I shall ask Poolo.”  I agreed and he left. 

In those few days I pittered and pattered about inside the walls.  I didn’t dare go outside.  I spent the time in this great sense of bewilderment, trying to digest what he told me and the whole situation I was in.

Interviewer -

So Poolo allowed you to come along?

Mr. Clement -

Oh yes, didn’t I say that?  Yes he did.  Everytime I talked to Jogl about this subject he would reply, “that will all come out at the conference.”  He basically shut up.  I couldn’t get anything out of him.  Something seemed to be bothering him.

When we left we had a large retinue of dogs, wagons and people. Several hundred people I should think.  I asked Poolo about the hounds and what would happen if they ccme after me.  His reply, “Don’t worry” but I could tell that he was.  Deep down I knew that I was unprotected and vulnerable – a sitting duck. 

When we finally went outside the fence I can recall how I peered into the tree’s and the forest and listened intently.  Every noise, every sturring made me jump.  I knew I was frightened.  I also knew, deep down, that I may die on this journey.  It was horrifying.

Interviewer -

How long did it take you to get there?

Mr. Clement -

Three, no . . . four days.   Nighttime – that is, when we slept – was especially horrible.  I hardly slept.  I had a few nightmares where I saw myself being attacked by dogs.  There were times when every breeze, every fluttering of a leaf sounded like a barking dog.  I thought I would go out of my mind.  I must of aged 10 years on that trip.

All in all, though, it was uneventful.  A few broken wheels, a babies birth.  If it wasn’t for the terror of the dogs, it would of been a pleasant journey.

But when we finally came around the bend and I saw the great castle of The Great Lord I was stunned.  It was a stone structure on the side of a rocky mountain . . . very spectacular.  I noticed that the sky was brighter than where I was originally, which I thought was strange.

As we approached, though, the great fear came . . . I heard dogs!  They were in the distance and seemed very loud.  But we kept going and all they did is bark.  As we got closer and closer they barked even more and louder.  Did they know I was coming? 

Me and Jogl talked about it and wondered if they were unable to leave the castle grounds. He said this was strange as they were always let loose to go over the land.  I got the feeling that he was beginning to suspect that something was wrong.  I could tell he was growing uneasy. 

As we approached the gates the dogs became particularly loud.  I glanced to the right and saw this huge pen, made of tree trunks.  In there were three dog-like creatures the size of rhinos.  They were barking so much that froth was coming out of their mouth.  I could also see a number of people in there with whips as if trying to silence them. 

Jogl turned to me and said, “why are they in their pens?”

As we walked into the gates it was as if everyone was static, immobile.  Time seemed to of slowed to a crawl.  Many people were as if stopped or slowly moving.  It was the strangest thing I ever saw.  They all seemed to be looking in a specific direction:  toward the palace.  Everyones face was emotionless, like stone.

We were shown into the main hall of the Great Lord and went into the Throne Room.  There was no one there on the throne, nor around it.  I should point out that the “throne” was not a throne at all but an inclined bed, higher in the front than the rear.  As I’d find out later, they lay prone on it.  Sort of unusual . . .

It seemed eerily quiet in there.  Every sounded seemed to echo.  I looked at Jogl and he had this great worry on his face.

They then took us through a doorway, to the side of the Throne Room, and we passed through a number of hallways where we found ourselves looking into an open doorway into a room.  As I peered in, I could see a man laying on a bed, apparently sick or dying.  There were a number of people as if attending him. 

We slowly walked in, one by one.  Quickly, a man walked up to us and said, “It doesn’t look good”.  He was the physician.  He told us that The Great Lord had an illness that will kill him in a few days.  There was only one way to save him.  He needs medication from the Bright Source.  Its the only thing that has the life-giving properties he needs.  He told us that we needed to get an expedition to get it. 

Jogl replied, “We don’t know how!  Only one person has ever claimed they did it, and even his account is questionable.  We are risking our lives to get it.” 

The man replied, “. . . that’s what you’re going to have to do.” 

The physician would not let us disturb the Great Lord so I never saw him up close.  He looked like a man, in his 50′s, with a white beard.  That’s all I could tell at that distance.

We all walked out into the hallway and Jogl and the other men began to speak to themselves.

“This explains everything,” said Jogl, “when the Great Lord is sick all the world is sick.  Problems begin to appear, strange occurances take place, the hounds will not leave the castle grounds, the people as if stopped in their tracks, no one leaves the castle.  That’s why we never knew about it.  And, what’s worse, people run amok and start to do evil things, such as trying to find pathways to the underworld, which explains why the underworlder is here as well as why he was never chased.  This has happened many times in the past.  It is called ’The Great Waining Sickness of the Great Lord’.  It often precedes his death.  I fear this is serious.  Everything is at stake.  We need to attempt an expedition as soon as possible.”

They then went off by themselves and began talking about some things which I could not hear.  I gather they were making plans.  I did catch this much:  they’re leaving the next morning!

They later showed us to our room and fed us.  The food, I remember, was bland.  Even Jogl said that this was a sign.  Usually, the food at the Great Lord’s castle is some of the most tasteful in all the world.  Even the sickness has altered the food. 

As we sat around the fire, they discussed things.  One of the scholars from the castle, a close freind of Jogl’s, came in and talked to us in whispers.  What he basically said is that the queen is now trying to get control.   She is starting to think that she is the Great Lord.  He said that a little known aspect of ‘The Great Waining Sickness of the Great Lord’ is that the queen starts thinking she is the Great Lord and wants to usurp him.  The old annals state the warning that when the Great Lord is sick the queen will often try to take his position and become him.  It is a strange sickness.  In addition, part of the sickness is that many people will side with her.  Many will claim that she is the Great Lord and always has been.  This, he said, has been happening recently.  A faction has been growing promoting the queen as the Great Lord.  There have even been plots to kill him.  He has even suspected that the queen may be the one plotting to kill the Great Lord.  But, he said, the annals state that the queen can never become the Great Lord.  The power of the Great Lord, he said, is greatly hinged on the fact that he marries the land.  It becomes his wife.  A female cannot marry the land, a female.  If this were to happen, all sorts of bad things will happen.  Things will become skewed and distorted.  The world will go awry.  He said that we must hurry as fast as possible and that there was no time to spare.

All I remember is this sense of horribleness after hearing this, like some horrible doom.  They talked as if the world was on the verge of being destroyed. 

Later, after everyone went to sleep, I was awoken by some noise.  I heard hushed voices.  I looked and saw Jogl, and the other men, standing near the door whispering.  They had the tool they had earlier.  Slowly, and quietly, they all walked out the door in a very hushed way.  I, being curious, got up and followed them, being careful not to be seen. 

They went to the Throne Room.  They were all standing looking down on a specific spot on the floor.  I noticed that, inset into the floor, was what looked like a reddish stone, about the size of a grapefruit.  There was great decorative tiles all around the stone, as if it was very important.  There was even a rail all around it, about one foot high.  They all stood around it as if wondering what to do.  Jogl, and several others, leant down to get a closer look at it.  One of them grabbed it and tried to yank it out but couldn’t.  He even hit it on the side with his hand and then tried to dislodge it by kicking it with the bottom of his foot.  He was then handed the crowbar and positioned it so it was under the edge of the stone.  I could almost see Jogl saying, “be careful!”  Slowly he pressed down.

Nothing.

I wondered what this was all about.  They were trying to steal the stone, but what for?  It didn’t look like anything precious.

After a few more tries the stone seemed to budge.  They grabbed the stone and tried to move it.  It moved abit more.  They tried it again.  It was more looser.  They grabbed it and twisted it.  Finally, it came off.  They all looked at it closely.  They then pulled a similar looking one out of a leather bag.  One of them gets what seems to be glue and glues it in the place where the original was located, to hide their theft.  They then made haste out of there.  I had to hurry to the room before them so I took off.  I watched them come in as I pretended to sleep. 

In the morning they all looked calm as they got everything ready for the expedition, almost as if nothing happened.  Everyone seemed busy trying to get prepared.

As we prepared to leave in the courtyard a man comes running up, apparently agitated and concerned.  I hear him say, “The the seed is gone!   The seed is gone!”

Everyone turnes, wide-eyed, with an expression of shock.

“Who would steal such a thing?” I hear someone say.  “Oh, this is a bad omen,” another says.  “What are we going to do?”, a man exclaims.

I stood there mystified, wondering what was so special about a seed.  Frankly, I thought it was silly at the time.  Unbenownst to me, this seed would play an important part as you’ll see.

We finally set off, fifty or so of us, with wagons.  Where this Bright Source was, I had no idea.  But, as we turned and headed out I could see that where we were headed had a bright horizon, much like a sunrise . . . the Bright Source?

I heard one of the guys say that we want to approach the Bright Source by keeping in the shade of the mountain in front of us.  This really surprised me as I didn’t think we were in the shade.  I looked around and it had the appearance of being overcast but, as I looked up, I saw no clouds.  Looking further in front I could see that we were, in fact, in the shadow of a mountain. 

Finally, we came around the bend and were in full view of the Bright Source.  I heard one of the guys say that we should all stop, once in full view, and close our eyes, even so much as covering our eyes with our hands.  Then, slowly, we should open our eyes, as much as possible, and let our eyes get accustomed to it.  He said that some people will not be able to handle it.  He said that “if you’re eyes can’t take it then its best for you to stay behind the mountain and make camp”.  He also went on to say that some of us may even get ‘bright sickness’, at which point we should head back. 

I did as he said and found it difficult to open my eyes.  The brightness was intense.  It took about 15 minutes before I could fully open my eyes, though squinting heavily.  Some of the other guys took as long as half an hour to get their eyes accustomed to the glow.  Quite a few decided to go behind the mountain and wait.  A couple complained of nausea, and one even vomitted, and had chills.  This was, apparently, some of the beginning signs of ‘bright sickness’ and so they went behind the mountain to wait. 

After a while we were told to get some cardboard and make what are basically snow goggles.  We’d cut the cardboard to fit around our eyes, much like spectacles, and then get a string and tie it around our head.  We would make small slits in the cardboard to see through.  This helped with the glare but was awkward to wear. 

I looked out at the Bright Source, as best I could, and saw what appeared to be a whitish glowing mountain.  It was so bright I couldn’t make out any features, its shape, or anything about it.  All I saw is a bright glow in the middle of the desert.  As I looked around the area I noticed that, the closer you got to the Bright Source, the more deserty it became with the disappearance of trees first, then bushes, then small plants.  After a point, there were no plants at all.  I also noticed that, the closer you got to the Bright Source, the less hills, rocks, or boulders there were.  Near the Bright Source was nothing but a desert of flat fine sand.  The color of the sand was difficult to determine.  It looked a tannish white but I think the light of the Bright Source made it look that way.  I also noticed that there was no increase in heat as you’d see in a desert.  It did seem warmer but not uncomfortably warm.  Apparently, the Bright Source was not putting out any heat.  The sand was only slightly warm or not warm at all.  Getting close to it, I thought, was going to be difficult. 

Once we all seemed adjusted to the light the question was asked, “how are we going to get close to it and get a piece of it?”

Silence.

Then someone ventured an idea: “Could we build a structure, like an enclosure, that we surround ourselves with, perhaps on wheels, and then we can walk closer and closer to it.  We could have a small slit or pinhole for the driver to use.” 

Everyone agreed that this was an excellent idea and that we should try it.  Since there were no trees or vegetation out there, we began to dismantle one of the wagons, using skins to cover the sides and top.  There was to be six of us inside.  We did not want to venture any horses (who we left behind the mountain) and knew we’d have to push it there ourselves.  This means it had to be light. 

After some time, we got it built and started to push it out.  It worked great.  Luckily, the ground was smooth flat hard soil, with very little rocks or boulders.  This made it easy to push.  Slowly, we inched our way forward.  Even though it seemed light at first, it actually was tiresome to push, so we had to take frequent stops. 

Of course, there were things we never considered that came up and created problems.  For one, as we got closer the light coming from the bottom of the wagon became immense.  In fact, it was so intense that we had to wear the covers over our eyes inside the encosure!  One of the guys came up with the idea that we should get some blankets and drap around the bottom.  This helped alot, at least at first.  Another thing we didn’t realize is how far we had to push this thing, probably 10-15 miles.  The more we pushed it the more we questioned how long it would take.  It was tiring, cramped inside the wagon, and we didn’t take that many provisions.  We were, really, like sardines in a can.  It became clear that it would be days to push it there and back again.  Going to the bathroom, also, became a problem.  Not only that, the sweat, heat, and irratability that began to appear after awhile made it almost unbearable. 

Naturally, after a while there were murmurings that we should turn back.  Several did decide to venture back.  But the rest of us kept going, as difficult as it was. 

It didn’t take long for the intense light to come in every crack and crevice and gap that there was.  The inside seemed to crisscross with intense white light, like some laser show.  It became even too intense to look out of the pinhole in the front. 

Then the driver muttered:  “I don’t know.  I can’t see anything.  I have no idea where we are going.” 

“Should we just keep going til we hit the mountain?” asked someone.  Everyone felt that, since we have gone this far, we should go as far as we can. 

And so we continued on. 

Soon, we were so exhausted and tired that we could go no farther.  We decided to spend the night – that is sleep – as we surely couldn’t go back.  Besides, we were wiped out and exhausted.

I must tell you that this was the most miserable night I have ever experienced.  There were now four of us crammed in the wagon with our provisions.  Getting comforable was no easy affair.  If anyone moved it was sure to upset or wake someone else up.  I was probably woken up maybe 100 times.  One of the guys kept kicking me in he side.  Who knows how many times I woke someone else up.  And, in our cramped state, my muscles kept aching.  This was further compounded by the fact that they were aching and sore anyways, from pushing the wagon.  Then there was the smell.  I don’t even want to talk about that.  Oh, and the heat . . . how horrible.  You see, since the light was so bright we tried to cover up every little crevise and hole so it wouldn’t come in.  We used just about everything from bits of cloth to pieces of wood.  This made the whole wagon like a big sweat lodge, with no circulation at all.  Yes, truly, this was one of the worst nights in my life.

When we awoke we found that many of us couldn’t even open our eyes.  Several of us had swollen eyes.  A great majority of us started to feel sick and several guys vomited . . . to add to the wonderful smell already there.  It was quite clear that we couldn’t go on.  It would, and was, an accomplishment just making it back.   But we made it.

Once we made it back to the forest we  literally fell down from exhaustion in the shade.  I think it was unanimous that that we needed to take our time and, at least, have a days rest.  Almost everyone covered their eyes up, usually by tying some cloth around our head.  Then we all layed down and slept or half-slept.  Of course, the people who did not go with us helped us, fixing our meals, and helping us move about.  We decided that some people should head on back to let them know what has happened and maybe see if some other people were willing to give it a try.

Looking back on it now, it was quite amazing the devestation it caused us.  We were all drained of energy and the light seemed to as if sear us inside, scorching our very souls.  

It was while lying there, half asleep, when I heard Jogl speak to the others.  “Is it possible to use the seed?” he asked.

“But, if we do, it will give us away”

“Does anyone here know how to use it?”

” . . . does it work at all?”

“We may have to enlist Florsin to do it but then that’s like admiting theft of a sacred object.”

“Maybe he’ll help us, though, because it is for the sake of the Great Lord?”

“Do you think they’d pardon us?” another asked.

“We’re no conviced yet,” was the reply.

“Why did we steal it to begin with?”

“I don’t know,” said Jogl.  ”I have often thought that we stole it because we were influenced by The Great Waining Disease of the Great Lord.  Maybe it had a mysterious sway over us . . . I mean, what are we going to do with it?  It was as if something compelled us to do it.” 

“We could tell them that,” someone offered.

“But they’ve had the seed for centuries.  Why has no one ever asked this question?  Do you think someone else has ever asked this question?”

“No,” said Jogl.  “This situation is new.   Perhaps it is luck that made us bring it?  Had we not of stolen it we would not be able to consult it.  Perhaps our stealing is will turn out to be our saving grace?”

“Yes, maybe we should see if Florsin can read it.”

Interviewer -

Who is this Florsin?

Mr. Clement -

He was an official of the palace who was in charge of rituals, ceremonies, and things like that.  He was also involved with the sacred things of the Great Lord.

But they were all intent on seeing if Florsin could read the seed to determine what to do.  At the time, though, I had no idea what that meant.  I mean, how does one “read” a seed?

In the morning I saw them go up to Florsin, as a group, and tell him about the situation.  As I watched them I saw shock in Florsin’s face and a great look of disgust.  When Jogl handed the seed over, there was a look of surprise as if to say, “so it is true.”  But I can see that, in the back of his mind, he did agree with them and seemed forgiving in his manner. 

At this point I was curious to see how they read the seed.  They decided to do it in a few hours.  Apparently, Florsin had to do some sort of a ritual to prepare for it.

First, they got many large tree stumps and placed them vertically in the ground so that it made a large C-shaped in the ground, about 10 or 15 feet in diameter.  They then got smaller branches and laced them inbetween.  They then filled the gaps with small branches, dead leaves, and such, so that something like a small wall was built.  It was about 6 or 7 feet high. 

While this was going on Florsin went to a stream and washed himself.  When they were finished he went, complet;y nude, into the center of the wooden wall using the hole in the C as a door.  

They then lit the wood on fire. 

At first, I thought they were going to kill him, as I thought it would surely cook him.  No one else seemed concerned . . . which sort of calmed me down. 

I could see through some of the gaps what was happening.  He went in and placed the seed on the floor.  He then knelt down beside it.  I couldn’t quite tell what was happening next as the flames got higher and higher and higher.  I saw him lean over the seed.  He waved his arms as if he was trying to cause an air current over the seed, which he inhaled.  I don’t know how many times he had done this.  The flames were very bright and, my eyes being already oversensitive, they couldn’t stand a whole lot.  I kept squinting and closing my eyes.  Then I looked and he seemed to be lying on the ground, almost as if he had passed out. 

“Shouldn’t we go get him?” I asked.

“No,” says Jogl,  ”This is where he really finds out.  Let’s hope its good.”

It was so hot I had to get away from it and sat down watching at a distance.  I felt that Florsin, and the seed, would be cooked. 

Then, about an hour later, the flames were down and we could see him laying on his side inside.  I thought he was dead. 

But no one did anything.  The flames slowly died down and turned into crackling smouldering embers.  Florsin lay inside . . . didn’t move an inch. 

As we were there eating some fruit one of the guys saw him move and said, “He’s up!  He’s up!”

Like a spring we all jumped up to look.  By this time he was sitting up, half dazed.  We went over to see.  He was all sweat, one side covered with sand, the other with black embers.  Then he said, ”I saw a great tunnel burrowing deep, going down down.  I thought I was in the underworld.  There I saw such horrors, machines and noise, and people packed together.  I saw our underworlder.  He went down the tunnel.  For some weird reason, I followed him as if to see where to go, to have him lead me.  But, it seems, he followed another, a short squat man.  We seemed to walk and walk and walk and the next thing I knew I hit my head on something hard.  I seemed to see stars and passed out.  . . . . I’m not sure what to make of it.”

We all sat that wondering what it meant.  I was unnerved since it referred to me.  I could see everyone casting glances at me . . . wondering.  That only added to my nervousness.  

Interviewer -

So it appears that he passed out from the heat and had a dream?

Mr. Clement -

They told me that he goes inside, places the seed on the ground, and keeps repeating the question in his head.  As it gets hot, the seed releases some fumes, which he inhales while asking the question.  He asks and asks, focusing on the question til he passes out.  He then gets an answer in a dream.

Interviewer -

What kind of seed is it?  What tree is it from?

Mr. Clement -

They told me that it was from a great and magical tree which no one can see.  One thing is for sure, there is no tree, that anyone knows of, that has a seed that big.

Interviewer -

Then how did someone get it?

Mr. Clement -

I asked the same question and they said they don’t know for sure.  They told me a legend of its origin, though.  A story of how there was a boy who was playing beside a pond one day.  As he played he looked into the pond and saw a reflection of a tree that went way up in the sky.  He thought that it would be fun to climb that tree, then he could go way up high, as high as the birds.  When he looked up the tree was not there.  Baffled, he looks in the pond and see’s it, but when he looks up, its not there.  Thinking its the pond he reaches in the water and the image breaks up in the waves.  For some time, he sits there looking at the tree in the pond, then up, where it should be.  Then, as he glanced at the image, he see’s a seed dropping from the tree.  By looking at the image he could see about where it will fall, so he jumps in the pond, swims over and runs to the spot, holding his arms out to catch it.  Later that day his sister finds him laying there dead, with a large seed next to him.  She runs home to get her parents.  They come over and take his body.  His little brother finds the seed and, thinking it interesting, takes it home.  Later, they put the boy in a coffin.  The little brother, who has been carrying the seed, is asked to do something and puts the seed on the coffin.  Within minutes they hear banging in the coffin.  When they open it they find the boy alive.  Ever since then the seed has been associated with magical powers.

Interviewer -

That’s quite a story.

Mr. Clement -

At any rate, I didn’t think too much about my being in the dream that Florsin had.  I figured that it wasn’t my concern and layed back and closed my eyes.  Then my mind drifted to the leaves swaying in the breeze, such a wonderful sight.  My eyes followed the leaves to the branches, to the woody trunk, and I thought of my friend, Tesk’s Warden, and all of a sudden, I stood up. 

“Could it be?!” I thought to myself, but I quickly layed down. 

First of all, what could he do to help us?  Well, he did dig tunnels.  No, that can’t be it, I thought.  Besides, where would I find him?  I’m far away from where his tree was.  Even if I looked I don’t think I could find it again.  It was a thought.

The next morning no one could figure out what it meant and no one knew what to do.  We decided to start off on our way back to the castle.  I could see everyone was thinking deeply inside, trying to figure out what it meant . . . but no one could.

At one point, we stopped and made camp.  While asleep, I woke up to this weird noise.  It had an eerie quality, but seemed vaguely familiar.  I thought it was nothing and turned on my side.  But I heard it even more clearly.  It seemed to be coming from under the ground.  It made me think of Tesk’s Warden.  For some reason I couldn’t get him out of my head.  It must all be in my mind, I thought.  I told myself to quit thinking about it and go to sleep.

Sometime later I had to go to go to the bathroom and staggered through some bushes where I leaned up against a tree and was about to urinate when I saw a hole at the bottom of the tree.  Half asleep I crouched down and looked inside.  I then thought, “I could squeeze through that one, just like I did the other one.” 

I bent down and squeezed myself through.

The inside was similar to the other one I had seen before.  In the distance I could hear a faint trace of music, eerily similar to what I had heard before.  I slowly crawled toward it.  Again, I see a door and the light in the cracks.  It was quite strange as I kept having this dejavu feeling, as if I had been here.  Sure, it was similar to the last one, but it couldn’t be the same.  As I looked at the door I was amazed at its similarity.  It even had the same wear marks and scruffed on it, just like Tesk’s Wardens door!.  All I could mutter was, “that’s odd.”  Not only that, the music seemed so much like Tesk’s Wardens that it was uncanny.

But I stopped. 

Again, I wondered how I should enter.  I mean I don’t want to barge in.  What am I going to say?  As before, I sat and hesitated.  Almost the same thoughts came to me as before and I sat stumped. 

Minutes pass.

And then the music stopped . . . and I heard:  “You going to come in?”

I straightened and thought, “was he talking to me?”  He must of.  I mean, I thought he must be.  Who else would he be talking to?

Slowly, I creeked the door open and . . . lo and behold . . . Tesk’s Warden was standing there . . . or someone who looks like him.

“I’ve never seen anyone who spends so much time in front of the door,” was his first statement.

“What?  Are you Tesk’s Warden?  I mean the one I met before? . . . you can’t be!”

“Why?  I am.  Who else was I supposed to be?”

“How can you be here, you’re tree is miles from here,” I started in bewilderment.

“What?  No!  This is my tree.”

“Well, then, what about the other tree?”

“Thats my tree too.  I am in all the tree’s.  I am the warden of them all.”

“How can you be in all the tree’s?”

“Because I am in all the tree’s”

“But then that would mean there are thousands of you . . . I’m . . . I’m just confused.”

“Don’t be . . . “

“How did you know I needed you?”

“I didn’t.”

“But you played music while I slept . . . almost as if you were trying to let me know where you were.”

“I always play music, you know that.  The difference, probably, is that you could hear it now.  Before you couldn’t.  You now know what to listen for.”

“Perhaps.”  Frankly, I was stumped by all this.  “Can I get your help?”

“In what?”

“To dig a tunnel!”

“A tunnel?  I’ve got plenty of tunnels.  Why do I need another?”

“But those are your own.  Can you build one for me?”

After some urging and proding he says he might consider it.  I tell him that we will have to tunnel toward the Bright Source.  I tell him that that it will probably have to be long, and that this is the problem.  I guess we would have to start somewhere behind the mountain, where we are in the shade.  But that’s like 10-15 miles away from the Bright Source!  It seemed impossible to dig a tunnel that long but, deep down, I guess I was just hoping that he might be able to perform some miracle or something.

“Why go that way?” he replies.

Stunned, I can only reply, “What do you mean?”

“There’s another way.  Yes, by tracing the root, that goes past Endarns Meadow and then branch off toward Clists Spring.  Yes!  Yes!  That’s right!  We can get there in no time.”

I had no idea what he was talking about . . . tracing the roots . . . but, I figure, he’s got to know what he’s doing? 

We began by going down one of the holes and traveling along some roots.  At one point he starts to dig in a specific direction.  “Its in this direction, I can feel it”, he keeps saying. 

I hope he’s right.

I must admit it was not easy digging.  He’d dig in front, put the dirt behind him, then I had to put the dirt behind me.  It was horrible.  It was humid, too, and the soil was moist.  The air was hardly breathable.  I could taste the soil.  There always seemed to be grains of dirt in my mouth and, after a while, my insides felt like dirt.  At times I felt claustrophobic and became frightened, though I never told him that.  I continually feared the soil would collapse all around us.  If it did, then what would I do? . . . what can I do?  I can’t dig out . . . dig out to what?  All I could do is trust in Tesk’s Warden.  I had no choice but to put my faith in him.  Oh, and I should also point out that this was all done in complete darkness . . . I couldn’t see a thing.  That just added to the horror of it! 

Onward and onward we went til he hit a root.  “Which way?  Which way?” he would say to himself.  “This way!  This way!  It’s been a long time.”  This happened quite a few times.

As he dug I, all of a sudden, heard a ‘flup’ and felt something like a breeze, or at least a movement of fresh air.  The inrush of fresh air was a relief and I breathed in as much as I could.  I can’t tell you how good it felt after being in the moist musty dirty air that I had been breathing for god knows how long.

And then I hear:  “Come on!  Come on!” and hear movement ahead.  I slowly crawl forward, expecting more dirt but, unstead, finding an opening.  The next thing I knew the ground inclined downward and I fell forward with my head digging into the ground.  As I got up I had to spit dirt out of my mouth.  It tasted like the air!

“Where are we?” I asked.

“Under the tree.”

This mystified me as I thought we were following roots away from the tree.  I couldn’t help staring into the darkness, almost as if I thought I could see in the dark!  I could hear water dropping and the static of silence. 

“Can I light my lantern?” I asked.  I clumsily reached into my pack and fumbled around trying to find it.  While I was skirmering around inside it finally occurred to me that I didn’t even have a shovel! . . . of all places.  Once I found it I had nothing but difficulty trying to light it that in the dark moist air down there.  It took many tries but I finally got it lit.  I know that Tresk’s Warden was chuckling at me, watching me struggle with it so much.  I think he thought it was a comedy.

Once it was lit I held it up and looked around.  As my eyes got adjusted I saw that we were in what appeared to be a huge cavern.  I did not know how long it was as the light did not shine bright enough to see the end of it.  I looked and saw that, above me, was the root system of a massive tree.  It seemed to spread out in all directions appearing much like veins in the soil.  They were huge dark wet roots.  Some of them had to be 20 feet in diameter!  Occasionally, you’d see sparkling specs in the air:  water dripping off at various places throughout the cavern.  To be frank, it looked quite majestic. 

And then Tesk’s Warden says, “Yup, there it is.  The great tree, the big one.  I haven’t been here since I was a youngster . . . came here with my dad and uncle.  Its nice to be here again.”  He went on to say that this tree spread out over all the land and its roots spread out below all the land.  “Where the roots end, the land ends and the world stops,” he said.  But, I pointed out that, this tree must be huge.  With the size of this tree it would stand above everything, every tree, every mountain, and have a trunk a hundred feet in diamater. 

“I never saw a tree like that up there,” I said.

“You can’t see it . . . unless you know how.”

“I don’t understand.” 

” . . . you see, it’s more than just a tree.”

“How can it be . . . a tree’s a tree.”

“Not this one.  This is THE TREE.”

He then begins to walk below one of the roots, apparently following it.  “This way!” he says, as he begins to disappear into the darkness.  I jumped up and followed him.  I was mystified by the tree, and what it was, but figured I’ll have to talk to him about that later.

As I walked along I would hold my lantern up to see the ground, walls, and ceiling.   Water made small streams in the caverns below the roots.  I often had to walk on the sides to avoid walking in the wet mud.  But, that was almost impossible to do most of the time.  Soon, my feet began to get wet and increasinglly cold.  Not only that, they were caked in mud and became heavy.  Every so often I had to try to kick the mud off, which often didn’t come off easy.  Up above, the moist roots glistened in the lantern glow creating a great show of speckles as I walked along.  As I walked water kept dripping on me.  It wasn’t too long before I was soaked and, in the cool moist air down below, I began to get cold.  Every so often I caught myself shaking or my teeth chattering.

But, as I looked up ahead I could see Tesk’s Wardens backside in the faint darkness.  Naturally, he didn’t seem to be having any problems.  He just jotted along like it was nothing.  Not once did he even look back to see if I was following him.  I guess he assumed I’d keep up? 

I continued to follow him into the darkness not knowing where we were going.  On and on for I don’t know how long.  In the darkness, I found it hard to gauge distance, of how far we walked.  We could of walked a hundred miles for all I know . . . or a few hundred feet.

Then he stopped. 

“Here!”

“What’s here?”

“What you seek . . . dig here.”

And so, with my hands I reached up to the damp dark earth and began to dig into the soil.  After about a foot of soil my hand hit a stone. 

“Yup,” he says.

“Looks like there’s a stone here.”

“Yup.  Stone is what you seek.”

I then turned to the stone and looked at it closely.  With all the mud it looked like any other muddy stone.  I began to clean some of the mud off and noticed a glow coming through.  I reached down and picked up some water from the stream at the bottom of the cavern and used it to clean off some of the mud.  I could see it! . . . The glow . . . and, miraculously, the whole area we were in was lit up, almost as if someone turned on the lights.  As I looked around I could see clearly all the roots, large and small, which made a wonderful pattern on the ceiling.  Some was even on the walls. I could see the small streams on the floor, and the water glistening in the moist walls.  It made the light of my lantern look like a small match.

Grabbing my hammer out of my bag, I began to pound the stone.  Soon a small piece came off.  But how much do I need?  I never thought about that.  I decided I should get a small bag full at least. 

Often, when I chipped off the stone, it shined with such brightness that I had to quickly cover it with mud, both the pieces and the wall.  In fact, I ended up covering it all with mud and placed them in my leather knapsack.  I then covered the wall back up with mud, as well, as it was when I found it, and the wonderful brilliance of the inside vanished into blackness.  All that was left was the tiny miniscule glow of my lantern. 

Then we headed back.  After what seemed like an eternity we finally made it back.  I was wiped out, cold, wet.  I had to carry I don’t know how many pounds of stone I carried walking in mud and soaking wet in almost pitch-black conditions.  Despite this, I was so excited I couldn’t wait to get back.  Once we got back to the entrance I immediately crawled outside.  Turning back, I expected to see Tesk’s Warden but found that the hole was gone . . . disappeared as before.

I shouted that I appreciated his help and that I was in his debt.  I don’t know if he heard me.  I hope he did.

I then proceeded back to the castle, wore out, wet, and muddy as I was.  On the way back, I found I seemed to stagger and was often unable to keep my balance, falling a few times.  I decided that I had to stop and rest, otherwise I may never make it.  I dozed off for I don’t know how long and woke up very refreshed.  I then looked at myself and couldn’t believe how much mud was on me.  I decided to wash myself in the next stream that I confronted. 

Amazingly, I found my way back.  On arriving I could see that conditions have not changed.  I happened to meet several people who were on the expedition with us on the street.  They said that they all wondered where I had gone to, as I seemed to of just left while everyone was asleep.  “They just figured you decided to leave . . . being an underworlder.”

“I had to go see someone . . . uh, where is everyone?” I replied.

“They are around here, there and abouts.  Sad thing about Jogl and the others.”

“Why . . . what happened?”

“Oh, of course you don’t know.  They’ve been locked in the dungeon.”

“What? . . . I mean, what for?”

“For stealing the seed, of course . . . you were there.  They haven’t decided on the execution date yet.”

“What?!!! Execution!  Are you kidding?” 

I was completely stumped and bewildered.  I immediately stomped up to the Throne Room entrance and asked for Florsin.  After voicing my bewilderment he says, “there’s nothing you or I can do for them now.”  I was so bewildered I completely forgot about all the rocks I had and started to walk away. 

Then it occured to me:  the rocks!  I quickly turned back and said that I had something that may get them off.

“What would you have that would get them off?” he said in a unbelieving way.

“Can I talk to the physician?  I need to talk to the physician?”

He said he’d go see if he is available and told me to wait there at the door.  I thought it would be a few minutes but then it went to half an hour, an hour, two hours.  I started to doze off when I was startled by the door opening.

“I haven’t got that much time,” the physician says as he pokes his head out the doorway. 

Quickly, I get up and say, “I have something you might be interested in.  Can we go inside?”

On a table near the door I placed my knacksack and uncinched the bag with the rocks in it.  I reached in and pulled out a muddy glob of goo.

“What is that?” exclaimed the physician in a disgusted way, “I haven’t got time for this.”

“Let me show you,” I said as I tried to clean off the mud.  I found, though, that this was not as easy as it looks.  With my hands being muddy I was really doing nothing but wiping off mud and putting more on from my hands.

I looked up and noticed that there was a vase with flowers on the table.  I quickly grab it and shake it:  water.  Quickly, I pour some water on one of the rocks and an incredibly glow appeared that was so bright we all had to shield our eyes.

“Could it be? . . . ” the physician said haphazardly.  Shielding his eyes he reaches out to grasp it from my hand.  With an amazed expression, he holds it up, as he desperately tries to see the stone through his squinting eyes. 

“I can’t believe it,” was all that could come out of his mouth.  He then turns to the servant and says, “get Herzel,  Blain, and Jost . . . hurry!”

To make a long story short:  I gave them the rocks.  After I gave them the stones I could of kicked myself.  I was planning on saving just a little piece for myself.  But, at the time, I was so desperate and worried over my friends that it never even occurred to me. 

Anyways, some time after I gave them the rocks they invited me to supper at the palace.  It was quite an affair I can tell you.  There were about a hundred people seated on two long tables in this very large room.  Everyone seemed rather chipper and happy.  The food consisted of a soup, with vegatables with some sort of meat in it.  Then there was a roast meat, then vegetables, then fruit.  During this we could have as much beer as we wanted.  This was the finest meal I ever ate.  I think I was just in an elated state.  Besides, after what I just been through, I was starving!

After the meal there were these acrobats who came out and did a performance.  They were quite good, doing all sorts of tricks.  Then these musicians appeared who played this very soft mellow music.  I thought I was going to fall asleep, particularly after that good meal. 

It was during one of their numbers that a man came out and interrupted them, announcing that the Great Lord would appear.  Everyone was elated.

A few minutes later an older man appeared with a long white beard, accompanied by many other people, one of which was Florsin.  The older man had a resemblance to the man I saw laying on the bed some days ago.  With his presence everyone cheered.  He then said, “I was sick but now I am cured.”

I found out later that they had ground up some of the stone and made some sort of a brew with it.  This is what they gave the Great Lord to drink.  Within hours, he was able to get up, walk around, and wanted to show himself at the dinner.

After dinner I was given a room and slept soundly.  In the morning, after breakfast, I was told to go to the Throne Room.  To be frank, as I walked there I became increasingly frightened.  I didn’t know what they were going to do to me.  Would they throw me in the dungeon?

As I walked through the door I saw many people on either side of the Throne Room.  As I walked in every head turned to look at me.  I hesitated and stopped.  Then I heard someone say, “walk forward, he’s not going to wait forever.”  With every eye on me I felt like sticking my head into the ground and my feet didn’t want to move.  Finally, I got my feet to move.  As I looked up I could see The Great Lord laying prone on his throne, a most peculiar position I thought.  On either side there appeared many officials.  Slowly I walked up and I became even more frightened.  I kept having thoughts of being executed.

“So this is the underworlder who saved me?” he states in a low ungratious tone.

“Yes . . . sir,” was all I could say.

“How can I repay you for this wonderful deed?”

I blurted out the first things that came to my head:  “I would like it if you will let my friends out of the dungeon and not to execute them.  I would also like it if you don’t let the dogs loose, as they will chase me down.  I would also like it if you can  help me to get back to my home.”

His reply:  “I will let your friends out and I can now see that The Great Waining Sickness of the Great Lord made them do it and, in so doing this misdeed, they were able to save the Great Lord.  For this I am grateful to them.  As for the dogs, I will keep them in their dog pen.  As for helping you get back home I know of no other to help you than Jogl.  But, as a personal gratitude I would like to give you this,” and he handed me what looked like a gold tear drop on a leather cord.  He said that, within it, was a piece of the stone that I recovered from the Bright Source.  “Because of its brightness we have totally encased it in gold.   But, we have allowed a small pinhole on the bottom that, if you look through it, you can see the brightness, to remind you of it.”   He went on to tell me that when I go back to the underworld it will change form, as the light that emits from this stone cannot be seen there.  And since the stone is the light, it will seem empty as if nothing is there, but it is there as long as its encased in the gold.  He warned me that if I opened it the stone will disappear.  He told me to prize this necklace for the light of the world was in it.  From this light all life originates.  Because of this, life is in this necklace.  Having it near me will give me strength.

I thanked him for all this and left. 

Later I was to meet up with Jogl and the others and we proceeded to go back to their place.  On the way I asked Jogl to see if he could make a doorway for me to get back home.  He said he would as this, he said, this was a special request of the Great Lord. 

“The doorway you came through was not ‘legal’ or proper.  Someone did it out of mischief.  To make a proper doorway requires some time and the right time,” he says.  He told me we would have to wait awhile for the right time, when its the right season.  For some reason, he would not reveal to me when this season was.

After some months I was out looking for berries with Jogl, as I often did, and Jogl pointed toward a clump of bushes.  “There!  Look there!” 

I looked . . . I just saw a dark clump of bushes.

“In there, crawl in there . . . you better hurry!”

Was this the doorway he was speaking of?  I decided to move.   I got down on my hands and feet and crawled through the bushes, having to move away brush as I went.  I crawled into a darkness.

And then, all of a sudden, I felt as if thrown, as if someone picked me up and threw me.  I came crashing down on hard ground.  When I landed I fell on my hand and clinched it in pain.  I was worried it was broken. 

Then the air, it seemed very thick.  I had to inhale deeply to get it into my lungs.  At one point I thought I was going to pass out.  I layed flat, clunching my hand and breathing deeply.  After some minutes I seemed to be OK enough to look around.

I was in a forest again.  I could hear noises in the distance, people and wagons.  I got up to look and could see a village.  As I got up I realized how sore I was and seemed to ache.  I felt I was thrown quite a distance. 

But as I stood up I realized that I was not thrown but fell up, as I did before. 

Could I be back?

I looked toward the village.  The homes, the wagons, the people . . . this wasn’t the same place I was.  It also isn’t the place I came from?  I seemed to be somewhere else.

“Now,” I thought, “where am I?”

I slowly walked toward the village and noticed that everyone was Chinese. 

I went up to one and said, “Can you help me?”  He gave me this perplexed look, so I went up to the next one and the next one.  To make a long story short, no one seemed to speak english but I happened to find the Magistrate, or so he called himself, who happened to speak a difficult-to-understand english.  From him I found that it was the same month and year I left but only several days had passed!  I thought I had to of been in that other land for months.  I began to wonder if the Chinese were using some other calender. 

The Magistrate was able to contact my home was able to arrange my return.  As I waited I told an abbreviated version of my story to a Chinese newspaper man who, I think, greatly exaggerated what I said.  This, apparently, was repeated, and exaggerated, by the other newspapers which made it seem even more farsical and ridiculous.  That, of course, is why everyone got this wild story much of which is untrue.

Interviewer -

Its nice of you to tell us the whole true story.  I think, though, that many people will continue to questioned its validity though . . . you’re describing hard-to-believe things.

Mr. Clement -

Of course.  I often wonder if its true myself.  But, like I said, I thought it was a dream until I found the necklace, the one the Great Lord gave me.

Interviewer -

Do you have it with you?

Mr. Clement -

Yes, I always keep it with me.  Here it is [taking it off his neck].

Interviewer -

It looks like an oblong drop-shaped gold metal container, about a half an inch long, on a leather cord.  Its not much.  No decoration . . . plain.  If I shake it, there’s no noise . . . seems to be empty.  Its not at all heavy.

Mr. Clement -

I know, but that’s what he gave me. 

Interviewer -

 . . . but what is this? . . . yes . . . uh . . . there’s . . . there’s a stamp on the base . . . have you seen this? . . . its says . . . “China” . . . it’s made in China!

Mr. Clement -

I noticed that too.  It makes me wonder.  But its what he gave me.  I wanted to open it but he told me not to.

Interviewer -

But that puts this even more under question though.  This appears to be a trinket from China . . . you could of bought it anywhere over there.  To me, it makes your story even more unbelievable.  You see, unstead of offering proof you offer more doubt. 

Do you really believe all that you said happened?

Mr. Clement -

Yes.  I know it happened. 

Interviewer -

To be honest Mr. Clement, I, as a reporter, have my doubts.  Its just too fantastical and the proof you offered puts it even in more doubt.

Mr. Clement -

I understand.  I think I’d feel the same way in your position.  And, like I said, I wonder myself.  I have my doubts too but, yet, I can’t help but think:  what does it mean for something to be real?  I know it was real . . . it happened?

Interviewer -

Well, having proof is a good start to know if something is real or not.

Mr. Clement -

I don’t know . . . there’s something more.  I can’t put my finger on it.  I know that this happened but, I must admit, I don’t know in what way. 

But, despite this, I have told you my story and that is what I remember.

—

With that, the interview ended.  We shook hands, thanked each other, and went our separate ways. 

I found Mr. Clement to be a friendly, sincere, and seemingly honest man with no apparent hint of mental disorder or aberration of any kind.  I saw no evidence that he was making the account up or that this was a publicity stunt.  He struck me as a man describing something he had been through.  I sincerely feel that, deep down, he believes his story to be true.  

But for me, as a reporter, I find it hard to believe that his story could of happened.  I found that I left Roger Clement with an unsatisified feeling, that I did not get the answer I had hoped for.  I do not believe his story to be true but I cannot explain why he would of made it up or why he believes it to be true.   Regardless of this, it does make a wonderful, fantastical, and entertaining story.

———-

Copyright by Mike Michelsen

Thoughts on an image of poverty – a perception of alienation – with some thoughts on poverty in general

While thinking one day, an interesting thought came to me which amounts to this:

Over the years I have always questioned the image of poverty.  I’ve often felt that what people think of as poverty is not really poverty.  I speak, especially, of western societies (such as the U.S. and Britain) conception of poverty.  In some cases, the image of poverty is true . . . but not always.  It seems that there is another perception of poverty that has less to do with wealth, and well being, than what it may at first seem.

While watching some footage of people that were portrayed as living ‘in poverty’ (namely, a primitive tribe) it occured to me that what made them appear “poor” is the fact that they did not have many man-made things.  Because of this, they appeared to ‘blend into the land’ and be a part of it.  Their dirty faces seemed to be an extension of the earth.  Their clothes were just skins and leathers taken from animals.  They used things made out of natural wood, such as tools as well as on their homes.  There were few straight lines, circles, curves, or designs.  In other words, they looked a part of the earth, the land, as if they were a part of it.  Because of this, it gives the illusion of “poverty”, at least to the more ‘civilized’ people. 

Closer observation shows that many of these people are not, in reality, “poor”, and are often a capable and deep people, living a full rich life,often in conditions that ‘civlized’ people could not survive in.  Interestingly, they are often more ‘happier’ than the people living in ‘civilized’ societies who see them as “poor”!  I’m not the only person to make the observation that just because a person lives in a mud hut doesn’t mean he’s miserable. 

But, to ‘civilized’ people, they appear often horribly poor and wretched.  The ‘civilized’ solution:  more man-made stuff!  More organization, more economics, more ‘defined’ beliefs, more education, more machines, more technology . . . more, more, more.  All they need is more and they will live happily ever after.  That’s the solution!

What this more or less says, is that to get out of “poverty” they need to engross themselves in man-made things which will steer them further away from nature (which makes the ‘poor’).  This shows a tendency, in ‘civilized’ mentality, to see this opposition:

nature<<<<<>>>>>man-made things

In the ‘civilized’ mentality these are diametrically opposed to each other and are viewed as being at odds with each other.  In general, in ‘civilized’ societies, nature and man-made things are generally viewed as incompatible.  And so, the more a person lives in nature the more “poor” they are perceived, only man-made tings will take them out of poverty.  Sometimes, these two are even viewed as if they are at war:  man versus nature!  This point of view makes it so that nature is often perceived as a threat to humanity.  It also places it so that man-made things are the ‘answer’ to everything . . . much of the basis of the myth of ‘civilized’ societies. 

This makes it so that ’civilized’ societies viewpoints of poverty generally is viewed with qualities such as these:

• People are lacking in some way.
• People are miserable.
• People are not human.  Oftentimes, they make it out as if these “poor” people are not human at all, but are more akin to beasts. 

This shows that the ‘civilized’ point of view makes certain assumptions:

• A general worship of man-made things over nature. 
• A fear of nature, and that it degrades humanity.

This creates a general idea that man-made things “make” a human person, and that nature turns them ‘unhuman’ or animal-like.  As a result, it creates a particular view of humanity, of a humanity-by-man-made-things.  In many ways, this is the ‘civilized’ version of what a human person is. 

One of the reasons why man-made things are looked at in such an important way is that it makes humanity distinct from nature and gives humanity an identity removed from nature.  In other words, this viewpoint gives us a ’defined reality’ and ‘place’ in the world.  I can say “I am here . . . nature is there” and know that I am something in nature, a distinct someone.  Without this distinction and definition, we lose a sense of who we are in the world and ‘blend’ into nature, as if dissolving into it.  In short, it helps us from being ‘swallowed up’ by nature.  This ‘swallowing up’ is often viewed as a ‘poverty’ because we lose our identity which makes us feel deprived. This condition, in ‘civilized’ peoples minds, makes people think that people who live like that are miserable and wretched, hence the myth.  Because of this, it seems that the fear of nature, hidden in this viewpoint, is not really a fear of nature but a fear of a loss of our identity, of being ‘swallowed up’, so to speak, by nature, which is frightening to the ‘civilized’ mind and, accordingly, is viewed as wretched, horrible, and ‘less than human’ . . . poverty. 

But, as many of us know, humanity and man-made things cause a type of alienation of its own.  In fact, alienation-by-man-made-things runs rampant in ‘civilized’ societies.  In other words, the ‘solution’ has become the ‘disease’.  This is why there is a tendency, in ‘civilized’ societies, for people to want to ‘get back to nature’, as if to ‘undo’ the effects of man-made things.  What we see, then, is an alienation with too much nature and an alienation with too much man-made things.  In effect, man-made things and nature become two extremes, both causing alienation and both as harmful as the other.  As a result, these extremes actually create two forms of alienation:

1. Alienation-by-nature
2. Alienation-by-humanity

Humanity is in the dilemma of standing inbetween, wavering, uncertain as to which side it belongs to.  Much of life, really, is finding a ‘happy median’, to have a little of both, in the quantity and way that suits a persons character.  Generally, a person will lean more to one side or the other.  That is to say, some people will be attracted to a more nature-oriented lifestyle.  Other people will be attracted to a more man-made-oriented lifestyle.  To live too much in one extreme isn’t good.

Each of the two forms of alienation are unique and different.  It seems to me that alienation-by-nature tends to make a person feel ‘lost’ in nature, a sense of disappearing in it, as if it is going to engulf us.  Its not uncommon that, nature being so massive and mysterious, gives this quality of being in an abyss.  Often, even when people go camping or go out into nature they will often make references to this sense of ‘being lost in the abyss’.  They may lose a sense of who they are and marvel, or even be terrified, at their ‘smallness’.  This can cause problems for some people, making some people hate nature.  Its not uncommon that, because of this, many people will need to bring up very ‘human-centered’ things in the midst of nature.  They “have to” think about things they are familiar with and “have to” make camp ‘human-like’.  In other words, they bring their ‘human world’ into nature to stave off the sense of being engulfed by the abyss. 

Alienation-by-humanity, on the other hand, tends to make people feel ’detached’ from themselves.  They seem like they are not themselves and, in some cases, will struggle with who they are.  They may also feel they don’t belong nor are they a part of things.  This is all quite ironic as you’d think humanity would make people feel more human but what it really shows is that there is more to being “human” than the “human”.  Interestingly, this condition creates a form of ‘poverty’ all its own but its generally not viewed as a ‘poverty’, at least by the ‘civilized’ minded.  They generally tend to as if disregard it, treating it as if it is nothing (as a result, alienation generally runs rampant in ‘civilized’ societies, with nothing to check it).  But, for those of us that are not ‘civilized’ minded, it can and has been described as ‘poverty’.  Its not uncommon for the ‘civilized’ people, who suffer from alienation-by-huamanity, to be described as ‘culturally poor’ or ‘spiritually poor’ or some other thing, by people who are not ‘civilized’ minded.

We see a tendency for the people who are ‘civilized’ oriented to often view people in nature as ‘poor’ and the people that are ‘nature’ oriented often to view ‘civilized’ people as ‘poor’.  In other words, what constitutes ‘poverty’ depends on where a person stands.  It is a perception a person takes, not a reality, nor does it necessarily describe a condition.  This fact has created all sorts of myths and misconceptions about poverty and what it consists of. 

Its for this reason that I have become skeptical about what poverty is.  Too many times have I seen people described as ‘poor’ who are not.  Many people in the world barely make ends meet but, yet, live happy content lives.  Many people live with very little too, but are happy.  In addition, some of the most miserable people in the world are the wealthy as I, myself, have seen (though they may have the ‘luxury’ to think that they are not).  Because of this, I generally use other ways to describe poverty.  To me, there are many forms of what generally constitutes ‘poverty’ as well as many levels.  Its not as easy or clearcut as it sounds. 

In its simplist wording, I would describe poverty as a condition when people are in need of something.  But we are all in need.  Life, really, is nothing but being in perpetual need (food, warmth, companionship, etc.).  As a result, humanity is poor by its nature.  Much of life is nothing but trying to stave off this need, this poverty.  But, normally, it does not overwhelm us.  This means that there is a ‘healthy poverty’ where, though we are poor, we are not overly poor.  In other words, since we are all poor by nature, it is the extent of the poverty that is the problem, of how far and extensive it goes.  This shows that there is a spectrum to poverty ranging from ‘healthy’ to ‘unhealthy’, with many gradations inbetween.  The question of where ‘poverty’ becomes ‘unhealthy’ on this spectrum is not as easy as it sounds.  In many cases, its a question of point of view.

To begin with, there are many forms of being poor:  materially, spiritually, socially, etc.  Each form of poverty has its ‘badness’ to it, and can be devastating to a person, even to the point of killing a person.  Material poverty can be just as deadly, for example, as social poverty (which may cause suicide) and spiritual poverty can cause as much misery (despair) as having to save to buy food.  This means that the different forms of poverty can all go to an extreme form causing great suffering and even death, though in different ways.

Poverty also affects the population differently.  Sometimes, poverty is a personal issue, something an individual person fights.  It could be a specific family that suffers a poverty or it can be a specific group in a society.  In some cases whole societies or even countries can suffer from a specific form of poverty.  Because there are so many forms of poverty that can exist in a society there are generally many forms that generally exists in any society. 

Poverty generally causes a misery and suffering.  These, though, tend to be subjective.  What one person is misery is, to another person, a slight discomfort.  Some people, and societies, are very hardy and can handle much deprivation and difficulty.  Other people, and societies, may not be able to handle it as much.  As a result, they become ‘poor’ more easily.  This only makes the question of what constitutes poverty even more fuzzy.

With all these variations, spectrums, and differences, its often hard to define what ‘poverty’ is and who, exactly, suffers from it.  There is generally a point, though, where it is obvious, namely when people are dying or on the verge of dying.  That’s the only sure certainty.  By that time, though, it has gone to the extreme and is too late.

Are we in the era of ‘good intentions’ gone bad? . . . The need for a wisdom

The other day I got in a discussion with someone about the holocaust.  Of course, the typical reaction we described is ”how could something like this happen?”  It is perplexing and, to me, the sense of bewilderment is a common feeling with this subject. 

I went on to say a a common statement that I often say in regard to the holocaust:

“People think things like this are caused by ‘evil’ people with ‘evil’ intentions.  My inquiry into history does not seem to show this.  It seems to me that most people aren’t ‘evil’.  They don’t just do bad things because their innately evil.  What I have found is that when people do things, like the holocaust, it is because they have justified it in their minds.  In other words, the problem is that they have found a logic to justify their actions.  They’ve developed a point of view that makes it right, at least to them.  As a result, it becomes more a matter of a ‘warped logic’ or a ‘twisted way of looking at things’ more than anything else.”

What all this means is that many bad things are caused by what, in their mind, is good intentions (at least for them).  This is not just seen with people that are viewed as “evil” (such as the Nazi’s or terrorists) but with many things nowadays.  These good intentions make sense to them, and seem right.  

As a result, it made me think about “good intentions” and the problems with them and these are some of the thoughts I had:

THE CAUTION OF “GOOD INTENTIONS”

Many things are said in the name of ‘good intentions’, and end up turning out bad.  This is so common, I think, that we need to be wary of it.  In fact, many of the tragedies of the modern world have been caused by good intentions.  We create all this stuff, for example, that is supposed to “help” us and it has undermined our society as well as done damage to the environment, among other things.  It all meant well, and was designed from that perspective, but its effects have, in some cases, been tragic.  This means that just because something sounds “good”, and means well, doesn’t mean its immune to tragedy.  This seems so common that its as if we are in an era of ‘good intentions’ gone bad . . . everybody always means well.     

Typically, “good” means that it is usually looked at from an idealistic perspective.  Being idealistic, its more a reflection of what we’d like it to be more than anything else.  Its as if anything “good” means its as if Divinely protected and, as a result, no bad will come of it.  But this is not what real world experience shows.  This shows that this point of view is not necessarily reflective of what really happens.  

In addition, it tends to be one-sided, only looking at the supposed good it will create.  Often, people who think things are only for the “good” never even consider the possiblity that there may be “bad” ramifications as well.  If something “bad” does happen then they either deny it or are shocked by it.  I’e seen quite a few people think that something they consider good can do any bad at all.  This fact shows that doing things for “good intentions” tends to have a narrow-mindedness with it.  This makes it so that there is no consideration for the bad that may happen.  Often, people with “good intentions” never even give this a thought. 

The Influence of Christianity

Christianity, with its concept of good and bad, tends to have a big influence on the creation of this point of view, as well as to its glorification.  Generally, what is considered good is “good”.  We don’t question it.  We immediately assume that what is good will lead to good and everything will turn out good in the end.  By doing good we will get, in return, good.  Therefore, things are done with the idea that good acts will automatically get good results, as if to reward us for our good, much like going to heaven after we live a “good” life.

This, though, is not really what happens. 

In the real world, good does not necessarily lead to good.  Oftentimes, some of the best good comes after something bad has happened and some of the worst things happen after something good.  But, since its sanctioned by religion, the ‘good leads to good’ line of thought is seldom questioned.  As a result, Christianity tends to create a narrow-minded and limited perspective on the effects of ‘good intentions’.

But, more importantly, Christianity created a tendency to blindly glorify ‘good intentions’.  As a result, anyone with ‘good intentions’ was as if put on a pedastal and practially made out as a saint.  This still goes on today, in the post-Christian era, where people who do ‘charitable’ work, and such, are often glorified and their actions are often taken as if will ‘save the world’.

The Influence of Democracies

Another reason why we emphasize so much of the “good” is because of democracy.  This form of government has made it so that policies must be given a “good” image so that it will be accepted by the masses.  Because of this, many things are ‘moulded’ to appear “good” whether they are or aren’t.  In some ways, making things appear “good”, in democracies, has become an art form in itself.  But, it is all an illusion that, in many cases, is a lie.  As a result, democracies tend to make an illusion out of “good”.  This often makes many things in democracries appear “good” all the time . . . and many people believe it!

If something bad does happen then it is often ’refashioned’ so it looks “good”.  As a result, there is actually a tendency to cover-up any “bad” that happens in democracies.  This only contributes to the illusion of “good” in democracies as it makes many people think everything is ‘hunky-dory’ and great when, in actuality, it may not be. 

In addition, many democracies policies are idealistic, describing how people would like things to be.  Often, this is done without consideration for the reality of whats really happening or the consquences.  As a result, many democracies tend to have a ‘pie-in-the-sky’ mentality.  This makes it so that there is a great fascination in the “good” that can or might happen.  For many people, this can be mesmorizing and cloud their vision of things.  This is true of the politicians and the people themselves.

The Influence of ‘Causes’ and ‘Principles’

Many decisions are often made to satisfy ’causes’ and ‘principles’.  Typically, ’causes’ and ‘principles’ tend to be narrow, emphasizing a specific detail or theme and rarely look at things from an overall perspective.  In other words, they tend to be particularistic.  As a result, a mentality the caters to ’causes’ and ‘principles’ tends to be narrow and limited in its conception of things. 

It’s not uncommon that ’causes’ and ‘principles’ become very dominant in peoples thinking at certain times, particularly in times of crisis.  It can make people very directed and committed which allows them to deal with a specific situation.  Very often, though, it limits their vision and scope of things, making them do things such as disregard obvious things.  In some cases, it makes them blind to things that are going on before their very eyes or makes them make stupid decisions or even take unrealistic beliefs (such as the Nazi belief of eradication of the Jews).  As a result, it can become like a drug or like putting blinders on. 

Such is the power of ’causes’ and ‘principles’ . . .

This means that we need to be cautious of any ’cause’ and any ‘principle’ . . . they have a mesmorizing effect.  We must stand on guard against them.  This is not to say that a ’cause’ or ‘principle’ is bad.  This is not true . . . much of life is based on them . . . and they can help sustain us through difficult times.  But we must be careful to not let them cloud our vision, as they have a history of doing this (such as with the Nazi’s). 

GOOD AND BAD IN DECISIONS

The general stance of “good intentions” is that ‘good causes good’ and ‘bad causes bad’.  As a result, if something good happens it must be because of good policies and, accordingly, if something bad happens it because of bad policies.  The problem is that this is often not the case. These stances are linear, or just looking at things simply, as if ‘tit will cause tat’. Things, in the real world, thought, are not so simple. 

In any decision, it seems to me, there are these scenario’s:

• Good follows good.
• Good follows bad.
• Bad follows good.
• Bad follows bad.
• Depends on where you stand (what’s good, what’s bad, etc.).

All this shows is that there is no definate ’good creates good, bad creates bad’ scenario.  It can happen, but not necessarily.  My experience is that there are too many variables to make most situtations definate . . . so its best not to expect it.  Because of this, it seems best to assume that decisions are made only with the idea of “increasing the chances” that good happening.  In fact, the very purpose of making decisions is not, in actuality, to create a “good” result but to increase the chances that ”good” will happen. 

We are often very hampered by our understanding of what creates “good”.  The fact is that we generally don’t know if “good” will result from any decision we make.  It would be wise to never “assume” good will automatically result from any action we take.  Very few people tend to acknowledge this fact though.  I’ve always felt that one of the first things a person must do is to acknowledge this fact to oneself. 

THE ‘FORCING GOOD MENTALITY’

Because people try to ‘force good’ to happen it often creates a mentality that sees this as a motive in life.  I call the the ‘forcing good mentality’.  For some people, this can become a world view, dictating how they view everything and what they do with their life.  People who have this mentality generally mean well but tend to be narrow in their conception of things, almost simplistic, almost to the point of being stupid-like.  Because of this, they are often people you don’t want making major decisions involving complicated things and which may have great consequences (such as in politics).  They are often good at more limited things, such as volunteering, or something similar.  This mentality also tends to have the problem of blind idealism, of ‘pie-in-the-sky’ thinking and attitudes.  Because of this, they tend to not be very realistic.  Generally, their viewpoints originate from Christianity, democracy, or some sort of a ’cause’ making them develop self-righteous-like attitudes.  In fact, its often this attitude that creates the ‘forcing good’ attitude 

THE NEED FOR A WISDOM

It seems, to me, that the best thing to do is not to worry if something is “good” but if it is the wise thing to do.  In other words, wisdom is more important than ‘good intensions’.  When I use the word “wisdom” I am not speaking of a type of knowledge, or even a point-of-view, but an attitude.  Wisdom is a specific stance one takes in life.  As a result, things are looked at from a different angle than “good intentions”. 

It has qualities such as:

• It looks at things from an overall point of view and looks at things from the ‘greater scheme of things’.  As a result, it requires a greater awareness of how the world works.
• There is an acceptance of the real world situation. 
• It tends to look beyond any ’cause’ or ‘principle’ and generally does not let them determine what happens.
• A willingness to see the good in the bad and the bad in the good.
• An awareness that things are often not what they seem.
• There is a willingness to self-criticize and look at ones failings.  
• An awareness that we are not in complete control and things cannot always be the way we want.

Most certainly, wisdom is not a science and there will be differences in opinions.  In addition, wisdom is not fail-proof either (but what is?).  But, in my opinion, it is a beneficial and healthy outlook that often brings the best results. 

To me, wisdom is more “real world” whearas ‘good intentions’ is more idealistic.  As a result, wisdom is more based in looking at the world as-it-is.  This requires a knowledge of the world and how it works.  It always requires an acceptance of certain facts, which we may find hard to accept.  In the end, the result of wisdom is a ‘working with the world’.  The end result of ‘good intentions’, on the other hand, is to satisfy the idea of “good”, making it removed from the world, and making it a form of ‘working with the idea’.  This is part of why ‘good intentions’ fails so much, as the idea and the real world seldom are the same.  Basically, the problem of ‘good intentions’ is that, though the intentions mean well, it is not rooted in the real world.

Making a wise decision is not easy.  It seems that it requires qualities such as these:

• A general and realistic knowledge of things and how things work and progress.
• The choosing of things that seem to increase the chances good will result.
• The awareness that we don’t know for sure and that, in some cases, we are gambling.  In this case, its good to have a backup plan or alternative scenarios.
• A knowledge and awareness of how things can affect and influence other things not related with it.

The purpose of a lot of these qualities is to do nothing but create a grounding in the real world situation.  As a result, it requires a ‘real world mentality’.  It appears, to me, that this mentality is practically the opposite of the ‘good intentions mentality’ which is more rooted in ideas and idealism. 

Unfortunately, the U.S. is a culture that is more rooted in idealism.  Much of these ideals is stated in things such as “if you can dream it, you can do it”, and such, which are so prevalent in this country.  As a result, it makes the problems of ‘good intentions’ more of a problem, and more prevalent, in the U.S.  This means that the U.S. is somewhat ‘wisdom poor’, which is what my observation shows. 

Sadly, the area that the U.S. needs the most wisdom – politics – is where its most lacking.  This is because much of the idealistic tendency of the U.S. originates in its political thinking and theories.  In short, American political theory is rooted in idealism, not the ‘real world’.  Its really no wonder that American politics lacks real-world wisdom. 

A big element of any wisdom, I think, is the idea that many things can happen as a result of a decision we make.  And, because of the variables that exist in the real world, there are many different scenarios that can happen.  As a result, I’ve often felt that a trait of wisdom is to look at things as if there will be many scenarios  that can happen as a result of any decision we make.  Most people will look at decisions in a single linear way:  “tit will cause tat”, THIS decision will cause THAT effect.  They often look at this as a definate.  They then expect THAT to happen.  I’ve always looked down on this linear mentality.  It seems to me that, in most situations, there are usually many scenarios that can happen.   The problem is to decide which one will most likely create the ’good’ effect you want to achieve.  There’s almost like a process:

1. Determine what decisions can be taken and what their intent will be.
2. Determine what may be the effects that these different decisions may have on other things.
3. After looking at them all, “assess” which one you think will most likely cause the most effect you want for the least amount of problems. 

This is nothing but the creation, and consideration, of different scenarios.  Often, though, the best choice may mean that you must make a concession or sacrifice of some sort.  But this is a real world decision and these often have to be made.  This, in a way, is like taking the best ‘statistical average of success’ of what we understand of the situation, even if it requires us to make a concession or sacrifice.  In my opinion, many decisions, especially things such as politics or in business, are of this nature.

I’ve always felt that another sign of wisdom is the awareness that things may not work the way you want them to be.  Often, wisdom is nothing but a ‘rolling with the punches’, and of ‘making do with what you have’.  In other words, acceptance is a big part of wisdom.  Sometimes, this acceptance can be difficult to bear.  It’s one of the qualities that makes wisdom so hard. 

What all this means is that there is nothing “definate” in wisdom . . . that’s not its point.  Wisdom is not meant to be an ‘instant gratification’ or an ‘instant solution’.  As I said above, wisdom is an attitude one takes, an attitude of living in the real world and working with it, not in solving it or getting immediate perfect answers.