Saturday, January 29, 2005

If you heard the Truth, would you believe it?

I guess I need to continue my story and bring it to its conclusion. What has always impressed me about this story is how the chain of events were arranged to push me into a certain direction, which I would not have followed on my own. It made me feel that there are intelligent forces from outside our normal reality that can direct us.

So the next morning, when I woke up from a troubled sleep in the front seat of the 65 Mustang, I felt I had no choice but to do something I had vowed I would not. I had to try taking one of the yellow tabs to determine once and for all if we had been ripped off.

K. drove that morning and I rode shotgun as we traveled through West Virginia. It was a bright day, but there were clouds racing across the sky. About an hour after I began my experiment I found myself with my head out the window looking up at the clouds. I soon began to see cartoon figures acting out scenes in the sky. When I told K. there were cartoons in the clouds, he was elated, “That’s what’s suppose to happen!” he exclaimed.

We pulled off to the side of the road to consult our map to find a park somewhere we could spend the day and continue the experiment. I remember driving past hillbilly shacks on our way to the park with strange alien looking people watching us drive by, looking at us as if we were some sort of alien intruders.

We spent the day at the park playing guitars and investigating nature as if the world was a new and undiscovered place. The drug had a way of widening the perceptions I had and making me understand reality in a new way.

The story doesn’t end here, but I want to deviate just a little now to explain how that day was like the first step on a journey that has taken me to the place I am at today. My journey through life has been a slow revelation of what is truly going on here.

I ask the question: If you heard the Truth, would you believe it? If it hadn’t been for my experience that day, I’m not sure I would have been able to believe the truth of our reality.

I use the term hyper-dimensional to try and describe our reality that I have come to see. Have you ever stopped to think how much of our reality can we be aware of with just our 5 senses? I mean the Universe is infinite isn’t it? How much can 5 senses reveal to us?

For example are you aware of all the radio waves that are currently surrounding you as you read this? What other energy or influences might there be around us that we cannot possibly fathom or detect with our senses? What is to stop them from affecting us? Is our ignorance of them a shield that prevents them from manipulating our thoughts and actions?

My experience, and this story I am chronicling, tells me no. In fact, it is most likely that they do affect is in a powerful yet subtle ways. It is our awareness or lack of awareness that prevents us from seeing the true nature of the Universe.

Here is a quote I have found that sums it up for me:
Life is religion. Life experiences reflect how one interacts with God. Those who are asleep are those of little faith in terms of their interaction with the creation.

I would like to say that from this day on things on our trip started to look up, but in fact there were still deeper depths to plow as I continue the saga.

Thursday, January 27, 2005


The next chapter of my story starts to reveal personal facts about me that have not been in the public domain, so I see myself having reservations about continuing. When I started my blog I wasn’t thinking about telling this story. It does make for an entertaining tale, though the true life experience of it was rather intense and uncomfortable to live through. Like most adventures the telling of it is much more entertaining than the experience of it.

So now I debate with myself about continuing. It’s not fair to those people who have been following my story to abruptly cut it off. I am basically anonymous here, but for some reason I have reservations, so bear with me while I contemplate my next move.

Tuesday, January 25, 2005


It’s funny how circumstances can push us into areas we would never go willingly. Desperation has a way of changing us overnight it seems. Perhaps it is in these times that our true nature comes out, it certainly tests your courage and your boldness to venture into the unknown.

The next morning we woke early and went out into the park keeping a lookout for our friend. We were glad when we saw him meandering through the park casually picking up litter with his grabbing tool. He saw us waiting for him. We waved him over and invited him to stop inside the van to discuss our business.

We filled him in our plight and told him we needed at least some cash so we could buy enough gas to get back to Seattle. He was prepared to offer us $30 cash and 900 hits of LSD for the van. Back then you could still by gas for 50 cents or less a gallon. We had to do the math in our heads as we sat around the van. Desperation besides forcing you to act can also hinder your clear thinking. We agreed to his deal. We were desperate and didn’t seem to have any other choice.

The plan was he would come back later that morning after he completed his shift and we would do the deal. We spent the morning going through our stuff in the van and loading up the Mustang. The trunk was very small but there was something of a back seat in it. We stuffed every nook and cranny leaving only room in the front for the two of us to sit.

True to his word our friend arrived later that morning. He came with two large beautiful white Alaskan Malamutes. He explained that he took his dogs with him whenever he did a drug deal as part of his protection.

So we were all inside the van and he took out a baggie filled with little yellow pills that had green speckles on them. We had no idea what LSD would look or smell like, so we had to take his word that it was what he said it was. He gave us the $30 cash and we signed the title over to him.

To celebrate he wanted us to go with him on a short test drive. He was at the wheel and we had to explain to him that he had to take it a little easy as the motor mounts were in bad shape and the engine had a tendency to lurch into the radiator. He didn’t mind as he explained he planned to take the van out to his country property and park it there as living quarters for when he would visit the place.

He was giving us a tour of the large Boston beach park area that was his work domain. We stopped at a spot called Pleasure Bay Park and he invited us on a walk. The park was filled with people enjoying the sunny morning. We strolled along the pathways and he lit up a joint and passed it between us. We couldn’t believe how bold he was being smoking in public view, but we figured he must know what he is doing.

We finally returned to our parked Mustang and then our van drove off never to be seen again, though I suspect it may still be parked on some rural property to this day.

Our first order of business after getting out of town was to get something to eat. We tried not to splurge but we were hungry and we needed a hamburger really bad. After lunch we continued to drive trying not to think too much about whether we had enough money to make it home or not. We purchased a loaf of bread and some peanut butter. That was to be our entire diet for the rest of the trip.

We soon began to worry if we had been ripped off. We had no way to know what was really in the baggie we had hidden under the carpet beneath the glove box. K. said we needed to try it to make sure. I told him there was no way I would ever take any of it, so he volunteered to be the guinea pig while I drove.

Afternoon wore on to evening and into night and K. was yet to feel any reaction to the small yellow tab he had ingested. I don’t remember the logic in the route we chose; I-90 would have been the most direct way. But by nightfall we were on a small highway in West Virginia. I pulled off the road onto a small gravel clearing alongside. The back seat was so full our bucket seats wouldn’t recline very far, so we had to sleep in an upright position that night.

We didn’t say it out loud, but we were both thinking it, we had been ripped off. It was also becoming clear that we would run out of money and gas before we reached Seattle. During the past month I had hit, on several occasions, what I felt was the lowest spot one could hit, only to be followed by another even lower spot.

Monday, January 24, 2005

A Dark Ray of Hope

Sometimes it takes hitting rock bottom to make us take a look at our lives and decide to do something different. I turned 20 in Boston that year, no longer a teenager and not sure where I was heading. There was no big celebration, but I didn’t care, all I wanted to do was get out of there and go back home where I would start a new life.

I didn’t have a very long view of things. I knew my draft notice was likely to arrive that fall, but I was classified as a conscientious objector, so at least I wasn’t looking at a tour in Viet Nam. My plan was to go back to school and take some art classes, since that is what seemed to activate a spark in me. Just a plan for the next few months was all I could come up with.

But here it was the third day the ad for our van was running, and no calls. As if to brighten our outlook, that afternoon we got a call from a prospective buyer. I spoke with the man and tried to convince him to come look at it. He said he would the next day around 4 o'clock.

Our spirits were brightened and we began thinking about how we would move out of our living quarters into K’s 65 Mustang. Besides our clothes there were a lot of tools and other memorable, not to mention a couple of guitars. Obviously it wasn’t all going to fit in the car. We went to sleep that night feeling hopeful our sojourn in Boston would soon be over.

The next morning the sun was shinning brightly as we slept in. Before we got up there was a knock on our door. We had a For Sale sign on our van and this person was inquiring about purchasing the van. We let him in to see the interior and talk over the deal.

He was a young man a few years older than us. He had very long hair and we felt comfortable with him as he was very amiable and friendly. He worked for the Parks department, but as he explained to us, as long as he kept his boss supplied in the drugs of his choice he really didn’t have to do any work to receive his pay check.

It was then that he informed us that he wanted to trade us 1,000 hits of LSD for the van. Yikes!! That was not part of my paradigm. I had been known to enjoy partaking in marijuana, but drugs were not part of my way of life, and there was no way I would ever participate in anything more powerful than pot.

We explained to him that what we really needed was cash so we could finance our trip back to Seattle and drugs of that nature weren’t really our thing. We informed him that we already had a prospective buyer who was coming by that afternoon and we had already promised him the van. He left his offer on the table and said he would check back with us tomorrow.

What a long day that was, waiting for 4 o’clock to arrive. We waited patiently but by the time it was 6 o’clock we realized our buyer was not going to show up. That was a dark time. We were both very quiet and went to be alone while we contemplated our blight. I went for a run and K. played his guitar.

By that evening we were forced to accept that our newly found drug dealing friend was our only hope. We had no other choice. The food was gone, we only had enough gas to drive a few miles and we were hungry. We went to bed that night hoping our new friend would keep his word and return in the morning. Our plan was to see if we could get him to offer us enough cash as part of the deal in order to drive home. Once home we figured we would have some connections that could sell the LSD. There was no way I we were going to ever use the drugs.

In the end we didn’t care what we got for the van we just wanted to go home.

Saturday, January 22, 2005

Prodigal Son

It seems like you never know what is going to happen. Events continued to take a turn for the worse as I continue my story.

Having left the county from hell we headed towards Boston. My friend K. new a girl there that he had met a couple of years ago while attending the University of Arizona for a brief time. I don’t remember the exact details now, but we dropped off our two companions at the start of Interstate 90 as their goal was to hitchhike the entire Interstate to its terminus in Seattle. By the way the both made it back safely in just a few days.

Before heading over to K’s friend Debbie, we dropped our van off at the shop. It was suffering terribly from an electrical problem. We decided to also have them remove the broken bolt in the engine block so the oil leak would be fixed.

The only source of money we had was from K’s cousin. K had made a stop in Nebraska to visit his cousin going to school there. He managed to borrow $200 from him, which was lucky since neither of us had any money. We went over to Debbie’s and it was okay for the first night. We went out to a nightclub and did some partying. We couldn’t really leave until our van was fixed since we had no where to stay without it.

It turned out to be most unpleasant as we pretty much overstayed our welcome. K and Debbie were fighting as well. If we had left after the first night it would have been different, but as it turned out we had to stay for 3 nights while they housed and feed us. It was a relief to leave, its no fun being an unwelcome guest.

So we went to pick up the truck and when we got the bill it was $154. Whoa! The electrical problem was only $35 but there turned out to be a lot of labor involved with getting the broken bolt out. After paying the bill we only had a little over $10 left.

This was a very bad state of affairs. We suddenly lost any ambition about finding a job and saving money to go to Europe. We decided that our only option was to sell the van and then drive back to Seattle in K’s car.

To accomplish this we would have to spend our last $10 for ad in the paper. To place an ad we needed a phone number for people to call. Our usual mode of operation when entering a city is to find a park that we can stay at. Boston has a nice place called Carson Beach which is right on the water and close to downtown. We went over there to scope it out being very conscious of the fact that both vehicles were low on gasoline so we had to conserve. As luck would have it there was a beach house with a pay phone.

We placed the ad and asked people to call between 4 and 6 pm as we didn’t want to have to hang out at the phone all day. Within a day our ad was running, but before it hit the paper we discovered that the beach house closed at 5pm! So we only had a one hour window for calls to come in.

The whole thing was sort of a downer, as if we weren’t all ready pretty down. We didn’t have much food left in the van and we had no money to buy any more, so we were hungry a lot. The only consolation we had was we were at the beach and the weather was nice. Across the street from the beach was Columbus Park, which had a track. I had my running shoes with me, and as I often do when under stress, I would spend time running around the track.

I suppose I could have called home and my parents would have sent some money. However I was feeling like the prodigal son and the thought of asking for money was out of the question.

Friday, January 21, 2005

When is a choice not a choice?

Sometimes in life you are given a choice that isn’t really a choice. As I continue my story you’ll see that I had no real choice as events unfolded.

After arriving at the police station Good Cop went off to a corner where his desk was, and only occasionally came by to see how things were progressing. Bad Cop was busy going over his evidence and taking our mug shots and finger prints. He kept asking us if we were planning to sell the small stash of seeds we had, I guess he was hoping he could get us for dealing.

I had to go to the bathroom so Bad Cop had to stand over and watch as I urinated. I guess he wanted to make sure I wasn’t going to flush some evidence down the toilet.

Around 6 am he phoned up the local District Attorney to ask his legal advice. Together they plotted what the charges against us would be. They desperately wanted to come up with a felony, but seemed hard pressed with the given evidence.

Around 6:30 am Sunday morning the District Attorney showed up at the station. Together with Bad Cop they typed up formal charges against us. The DA could not understand why young men of the age 18 and 19 were traveling frivolously around the country when they should be holding down regular jobs or going to school. He just couldn’t fathom it.

Finally we were given our choice. They had two charges against each of us. Although the seeds had not undergo any kind of scientific verification, we were being charged with possession of something like 21 grams of marijuana. The ‘hippie pipe’ generated a charge of possession of a narcotic implement, though it too had not undergone any sort of scientific verification. Bad Cop explained to us that we could get a public defender to represent us in court, but he didn’t think there was anyone in town that would do that, and if we wanted to go that route we would have to wait in jail until Monday. Or we could go over to the Judge’s house and do the trail right now.

What kind of choice is that?? It was clear what Bad Cop wanted us to do. So far, we had been hanging around the station and had not seen a jail cell, all we wanted to do was get out of there as fast as we could. So the three of us got into the back of the squad car and Bad Cop and DA got in the front seat. On the way over to the Judge they stopped and picked up coffee and donuts for everyone, so I guess he wasn’t all bad.

We arrived at the Judge’s house and took our seats on his screened in back porch. There was a little judge’s desk facing us. It looked like the room was setup for these little ‘trials’. Judge came out to meet us and discuss things with his buddies, Bad Cop and DA. They all decided that they would go inside to confer and we were to wait out on the porch with our coffee and donuts. However, just before going inside they asked us how much money we had. Are you getting the idea there is some sort of scam going on here?

The money situation wasn’t very good for me. I only had $40 to my name, but between the three of us there was $300. That was probably lucky for us.

We waited anxiously on the porch for what seemed like a long time. Finally they all came out and Judge sat down behind his judging desk. We were handed carbon copies of the official charges that Judge was reading to us. After reading each charge we were given the choice to plead guilty. Then Judge pronounced the sentence. On the charge of the narcotic implement we were each fined $50. On the charge of the possession of marijuana, he explained that normally he and drugs didn’t mix and he’d just as soon put us away in jail for being involved in drugs. However, if we agreed to leave the county he would suspend the sentence for that charge.

Obviously the only thought on our minds at that point was to get the hell as far away from that county as we could. So that ended the court session; all that was left was for us to sign over $150 of our traveler’s checks to them. Hey, that’s exactly half of our money! I had to borrow $10 for my share of the fine leaving me penniless in a far away land.

After we paid up, Bad Cop and DA drove us back to our van, it was now about 9 am. We were in the process of battening down the hatches so we could get out of there, when our friend K. showed up with his 65 Mustang. What timing!

K. explained that he had arrived last night around 10 pm and found a little rest area just a couple of miles down the road from where we were. Had he gone the extra distance and found us last night, we were convinced that we would have left then and there, thus avoiding the unpleasant episode. I guess our guardian angel wanted us to go through that horrific ordeal.

It’s hard to explain the state of mind I was in at this point. Having no sleep that night, going through the arrest and trail, no money to my name and really no clear idea of what I was going to do with my life except to get out of that county.

It felt like I had really hit rock bottom, but I was to learn that there were even deeper depths to explore.

Thursday, January 20, 2005

Fire in the Hole

There are events in our lives that burn into our being and our memory. Things we never forget because the heat leaves its mark. So to get back to my story, I was on a slow decent to despair, but still had a long way to go to hit bottom.

As soon as the Bad Cop got a whiff of our sweet smelling incense he immediately accused of smoking illegal substances. Our explanation meant nothing to him, though the Good Cop seemed to understand our predicament, but did nothing to help us.

We were hauled out of the van and had to show our papers. Then the thorough search of our van commenced. We sat inside helpless as the Bad Cop went through every nook and cranny looking for stuff. He came upon a switch blade that we had picked up as a souvenir in Mexico from an early adventure. He was quite pleased at the find and informed us that it was a felony to have such a weapon, but quickly added that it would be a nice addition to his collection.

He was accumulating a pile of ‘evidence’ on the couch as he searched through our belongings. He came upon a ‘hippie’ pipe and asked what we used that for. Well now, I don’t want to incriminate myself here, but the truth is the pipe had only been recently used to smoke tobacco collected from cigarette butts. Later we learned that this pipe was actually a narcotic implement.

Further searching, he found an old 35mm film canister. We had forgotten about that, it was about one third full of some round looking seeds, something you might find in commercial bird seed. This was his prize find!

Finally he moved to the front of the van and left us sitting alone in the back. The Good Cop was no where to be seen at the time. We all looked at each other and whispered how easy it would be for us to throw his stash out the door into the bushes. No one had the nerve to do that, but I quietly covered the stash up with a blanket that was lying there.

Oh boy! Have you ever seen a Bad Cop when he is angry? He was nearly frantic asking us where his stash was. We all acted dumb as he searched recklessly. Finally I moved the blanket slightly so he could see that his stuff was exactly where he had left it.

Well that was enough. He picked up all the stuff he had collected and put us in the back of the squad car. We were headed for police headquarters, but there were a few stops on the way. We had to check out a noisy party and then a stop to harass a truck driver that was peeing on the side of the road.

We finally made it to the station some time after 5 am on Sunday morning.

Checking In

Well I haven’t been at my blog for a couple of days now, so I guess I’m getting behind. I don’t have time right now to continue my story, but if anyone wants to hear what all happened let me know and I will get back at it.

I got invited over to a friend’s to watch the Super Bowl. He’s hoping he will have his HD TV up and running by then. Not sure if we’ll will go or not. Being a football fan I usually enjoy watching the Super Bowl but the main thing is they don’t allow you to wear shoes in their house and the Mrs. isn’t too keen on that. Not to mention we went there last year and it wasn’t all that great an experience really. One of the problems was she didn’t know about the no shoes rule and didn’t dress accordingly.

Of course there are all sorts of other underlying things that go on when a group of people get together, especially if they don’t really know each other that well. A lot of small talk to consume, and some people will be making judgments about other people, and other people will thinking that people are judging them.

Still, it’s the guys from work, and the boss will probably be there, so it’s a good opportunity to do a little socializing and keep up the front that I’m just a regular guy like everyone else. I don’t like to let the word out to the general public that I’m a Lookout. I can’t blow my cover or I might not be able to do my job. You can never be too careful when you’re working behind enemy lines.

Tuesday, January 18, 2005

The Walls are Closing In

Have you ever had that feeling like the walls are closing in around you? Makes you feel like you are trapped with no way out. I’m always on the lookout for the walls closing in. The more aware you are, the better your chances are of positioning yourself to deal with it, as you can’t usually stop the walls closing in.

To continue my story from yesterday, I should have been more aware back then. The walls were closing in on me, and I walked right into the trap like a blind man. I doubt that I could have done anything different at the time. It turned out to be a very awareness expanding experience for me in the long run. But it was a hard path.

After correcting the fuel problem with the van, we took to the road again. Back then you could go to car parts stores and find recycled oil in 2 gallon cans. Yesterday, I incorrectly reported we were losing a gallon of oil every hundred miles, but I meant to say a quart. Our rendezvous point with K. was Fair Haven, New York, which was about 1,400 miles. So that was about 4 gallons of oil. It took awhile, our top speed was 55 mph, and we had to stop regularly to top off the oil.

There was no such thing as cell phones in 1972, and we had absolutely no way of contacting K. We had no idea if he was successful and if or when he would arrive at the rendezvous. We spent the days on the shores of Lake Ontario. At night we found a little rest area off the side of a county road. It had a picnic table and a place to park the van. Things weren’t going too badly, but food and money supplies were low and the locals were taking notice of the ‘hippies’ that seemed to have moved into their neighborhood. Unbeknownst to us the walls were closing in on us.

It was the third day, and we were becoming bored and frustrated at the indefinite wait we faced. In desperation the three of us made a vow not to sleep until K. showed up. Some how we thought that would make him show up or something. So that night we went to our usual spot and hung out in the van, waiting for K. to arrive. We didn’t find out until the next day that K. had arrived that night, but chose to stop just a couple of miles down the road from us.

The night dragged on to the early morning and we tried to keep ourselves entertained. B. was hungry and about the only thing we had in the cupboard was a can of sauerkraut. I don’t know where that came from since everyone except B. hated the stuff. He cooked up the can and had it for a snack. The foul odor was more than the rest of us could bear, so we got some incense sticks we had lying around and smoked up the place with that.

At 3:30 that morning there commenced a loud pounding on our back door. We opened the door and the sweet smelling hippie smoke wafted out into the faces of Good Cop and Bad Cop. Talk about the walls closing in, we were in for it now.

Monday, January 17, 2005

A Turn of Events

Have you ever had that happen? You’re going along with a plan when something turns up and everything starts going a different way? You end up doing something completely different. As a lookout, I am concerned with my ability to agilely adjust to changing circumstances.

A turn of events; I don’t know how many times that has happened to me. I remember back in the 70’s I had this plan to avoid my draft notice. I was going to move from Seattle to Florida, get a job on a yacht via some vague family connection, and then save enough money to make a trip to Europe with my high school friend, K., who was also trying to skip out on the draft.

We took a couple of buddies with us in our hippie van on the trip out east to Florida. They just wanted to come along for the ride and then have a hitchhiking race back to Seattle.

Before we could get out of the state our back wheel came off as we were exiting the freeway. That was pretty lucky I guess. K. got a bad scrape on his back when he was thrown from the couch on to the floor. The wheel didn’t roll too far away, though it nearly missed hitting a car. Of course we had to get towed to a repair shop. That delayed us a day or two, and ate into our capital funding, which wasn’t very healthy to start with.

Then in Nebraska the engine in the van didn’t seem to want to run. I installed a new fuel pump that we carried with us for just such emergencies. I broke a bolt off when I over tightened it during the install process. The fuel pump still worked, but we started leaking oil at the enormous rate of a gallon every hundred miles. Unfortunately, the new fuel pump didn’t correct the problem.

Luckily we had access to the engine from inside the van while driving. We filled up empty coke bottles with gasoline and I sprayed the gas directly into the carburetor as we drove down the highway. That got us going! It was before the days of video cameras, but we did capture the procedure on 8mm film, so I can prove it really happened. We had about enough of that after a few hours, and we pulled over in Valentine, Nebraska. We were running behind our schedule, so I called home to find out about the job on the yacht. Too late, we missed the boat on that one.

So we did what any ordinary person would have done when a turn of events changes plans. We made a new one. It was decided that K. would hitchhike to his Dad’s house in Arizona and pickup his 1965 Mustang which was garaged there. Then he would meet up with the rest of us in up state New York at a designated state park, where we would await his arrival. From there we would go to Boston and find employment.

So K. left on his journey, and we were left with figuring out why our van didn’t want to play nice. As it turned out there was a pink cotton fuzz ball in the gas tank blocking the fuel line. Apparently the pink shag carpet we had installed around the drivers seat had shed enough fuzz that it got into the gas tank. The fuel inlet was behind the driver’s seat, so there you have it. It was a 1947 UPS delivery van, what can you expect?

This adventure goes on, with one unexpected turn of events after another; maybe I’ll tell you some more about it on another day. It makes you wonder what is directing things. Though the events seem haphazard, they create a specific result. Is there some unseen force directing it? I don’t know, I remember on that trip my friend B. told me that was my problem, I thought everything had a reason behind it.

Now an important part of my lookout duties is keeping a lookout for unseen forces.

Sunday, January 16, 2005

The Lonely Visitor

Sometimes I feel like a lonely visitor here, I often wondered if I belonged here. But then I wondered where is here? The question implies there is somewhere else I could be. But on close examination this concept denies the fact that Creation is everywhere and everything. In my world view nothing exists that is not the Creation. So how could I be anywhere else?

With a question like that, how could I be in search for a way out of here? I conclude that the way out of here is just a string of events or lessons that will show the way to a new understanding and perception of what here is.

Recently I had a discussion with my father, the Pastor. I dared him to consider that we were already in Heaven and that the Devil was in fact part of the Creation that the Creator made. This didn’t fit with his beliefs, though in my logical way of thinking, how it could be any other way? No belief required, just reasoned thought.

I question the need for beliefs. Why must we believe? Are we supposed to have to believe? Why is belief associated with spirituality? It seems to be the consensus that belief is connected with spirituality. To be spiritual means one has to have a belief. Why? Can’t we come to an understanding of our reality without beliefs?

Truly, our reality cannot be fully comprehended by reason alone, it will take more than logical deduction to comprehend fully the Creation. Unquestioned beliefs are not the answer, they block the path to the way out of here.

Friday, January 14, 2005

The Network

Life behind enemy lines, in the land of greed and corporate power, has its advantages. Being the center of the dark planet, there are things available here that can’t be found anywhere else. That’s where I come in, if the Watchers or the Writer need something that can only be found here, I take care of it for them. We’re a network.

When operating behind enemy lines its important to have a network. There is really no way to get anything done without the help of a network. I don’t work alone, I have a trusted partner, Lookout Two. Together we deal with what comes up.

We got a request the other day from Watcher Three for a refrigerator filter part, the Writer needs new sheets, and Watcher One requests a book for research. Easy stuff to get here, at least it is today.

We’ve been on the lookout for changes though. Things change in small increments, but when you look at it over the span of time, the changes are substantial. When things change slow like that, it’s not always easy to see the direction they are heading. You have to look at the big picture, then the path the changes are heading down comes into focus.

There still is some time left, time before the incremental changes will prevent me from operating as I do today. I can’t sit idle and waste this time. Plans are in the hopper to ‘deal’ with things.

The key objective is to get the Writer’s work in print and out to those that need it. Any successful enterprise requires financial backing. So as we contemplated how to insure the Writer’s work will continue to be available, the Banker entered the scene. Here’s where the Network shines. With the Banker bankrolling the project, the members of the Network can work the operation. It’s in the works; soon the Network will have a remote site where the printing of the truth can continue when the walls of the matrix start to close in. The other good news today is that the alert system on the wall behind me is quiet.

Thursday, January 13, 2005

On the Lookout

Where to start, I’ve been on the lookout for all my life, at least whenever I remember to, which is most of the time these days, as the days seem to dictate a stance of alertness. In some respects its been an adventure through wonderland these past 50 years or so. Now I find myself aligned with the Watchers and their pact with the Writer to expose the truth to those that might be able to see it.

I work on the outside, behind enemy lines you might say, but it’s my home and so far I remain comfortable here, but how long can that last? Things are heating up; still there is time to live a normal life. I can perform the required interaction with officialdom that allows the Writer to work at her hideout as it were. Not that it is hidden away anywhere, it’s just a place a little further out of reach, though by no means unreachable.

I hear the alert sounding from the speaker mounted on the wall behind me. The announcement blaring out says it’s only for the emergency coordinators, it tells me to sit tight until I hear the all clear signal. I have a passing thought, ‘if I had a gun I’d shoot that annoying speaker off the wall’. I don’t know where that came from, I have never handled a firearm in my life, but the droning warning signal the speaker puts out hits a nerve in me I guess.

They are probably just testing the new alert system anyway, nothing to worry about. Yep, they just announced it is only a test, do not evacuate the building. It’s cold outside, so I am grateful for that. Life in the city, in the capital of the dark planet, the Fallen world, the world of the Devil, of the Archons, of Matter that holds Spirit enchained, you have to expect these sort of things. I took this mission knowing the risks, so I have to accept them, I don’t let them upset and distract.