an original, metaphysical fiction serial
8/21/17 1.2


We stood across from each other in my studio, a half-moon tacked onto the side of our cabin made entirely of glasson. If you haven’t heard of glasson yet, you will. It’s one of the materials newly created and used in this phase. It’s malleable—you can push it out at spots or draw it in; it’s 1-sided transparent when it’s commanded to be; and it boasts of the capability to refract sunlight to whatever frequency your work or mood requires.


Everybody loves it.


I don’t sell the stuff, but I should.
I’m telling you to nudge you to get to know your way around the electromagnetic spectrum.
If you wanna hang, that is.


He narrowed his eyes into my thoughts and dared me to make the line-up. It’s a game we play within the game we play. He knows I love to be in charge, but I pretend to be unsure of myself for 3 to 5 seconds before pouncing. You know, for sport and fashion. Spice is something you add for taste.

“Ok,” I grinned and rolled out the light pattern mid-air between us. “Here’s what we have on deck today: Two locomotives and an underground.” I pointed to irregular lines in the glistening weave. “And lunch out of doors, please.”


‘Locomotive’ and ‘underground’ have new meanings now, ‘lunch’ the same. ‘Locomotive’ and ‘underground’ describe rare, one-time pathways between planes. Some are special-ordered inward - loco’s. Some are accidental - streamer’s. The rest are randomly occurring and amazingly valuable outward pathways, unders.


We aren’t the transit authority, though we have been granted authority over this band of transit.
We’re sort of like growers, curators, guardians.
It’s an open market system and opportunists like us track and tackle the pathways we want to influence.


By the way, what’s coming in and out isn’t in human form.
Yet.




TBC in the next serial release…

an original, metaphysical fiction serial
8/18/17 1.1


A bright, brisk winter morning crept over the mountain and danced across our town until it fell at the foot of my bed. Tossing sleep aside, I abruptly sat upright. At the threshold of there and here I was always the most conscious of my task. It throbbed within me like a second heart, only deeper and more steadily.

He still wasn’t awake. I bent towards him and nudged his handsome face with my cold nose. ‘Wakie, wakie,’ I whispered and gave his scruffy cheek an exaggerated lick. I couldn’t help it. He was always my favorite human. Even now, with all we know, all we do, I can’t get enough of his hands on my waist.

He groaned away the night and stretched his machine of a body. Knowing my inclination to hit the ground running, he aroused quickly to the here and now, and directed his strong arms to dart out, seize me, and pull me into his bare chest. The same thud, call, ache beat miles below its surface.

How did we find each other?

That’s another story that’s not yet or quite relevant.
And we must stay relevant.
Time, imaginary little thing that it is, only stays on our side with the diligent application of intentional relevance.

Write that down.
You’ll need it.
TBC in the next serial release…

I’d start with once upon a time,
But since there is only one time,
it’s not fitting.
even though I’ll be forever smitten with the idea.

So instead of that,
Let’s try this,
It was and it wasn’t,
It all depended on how you looked at it.

This boy called this girl.
Metaphorically.
And she answered.
Both ways.

Her heart recognized in him the tools to cut her open and lay her bare.
​So she ran.
And quite quickly.
Into the safety of oblivion and feigned ignorance.


Why live with so much exposed?
If I empty out the bag,
And nothing’s at the bottom,
Does that end it?

She was fearful.
He was oblivious.
Already moved by the hand of god,
He knew not why only what and played his pieces accordingly.
Checkmate.
She was cornered.

Alas, the girl relented.
Cut me if you must, she cried, but I will not go alone.

As he drug his knife along her body,
she balked at the pain she was expecting but didn't endure,
For the pain she felt was deeper, harder, stronger than she knew existed.
But trailing each cut, a feeling of peace, love, joy infinitely more intense washed over her.

Truth.

He was cutting away her lies.
The lies.
All lies.

After the last inch of her soul fell to the cut, she grabbed the handle and pushed it back across his body.
When he resisted,
She relented.
And took the knife back.
The boy tho,
He felt.
And the tiny knick freed enough of what he had held within for so long that he willing thrust himself upon the sharpest edge and called to her to take him home.

And so they continued.
Each cutting and being cut.

What remained?
Truth.
Light.
Love.

It was real.
Is.
All.
Every.
Any.

God is good.
And we are him.

a metaphysical play
--

God (G)- spirit, the universe, love, truth
Woman (W) - you

Setting: a purple, black darkened room with a billion pinpricks of blue-white light surrounding the players as they sit on the water’s edge

--
W- God, does it hurt?


G - my child, of course. But not for long. Just enough to scare off the meek , the uncommitted, those not ready.


W- Am I ready?


G- are you?


W- no.


G- ok.


W- you don’t care?


G- never.


W- why not?


G- it’s your world, darling, & the time is always now. The path has opened to you. You are on it. It is done. You will use time to see as I see, to know as I know, to love as I love.


W- I don’t understand.


G- you can’t.


W- so what do I do now?


G- why, you live, my child. Like it’s the last thing you’ll do. And it will be enough.


W- I’m afraid.


G- that’s fine. It suits you for now. But soon you’ll see there is nothing to fear. Fear is only a dark corner without love. When you desire it enough, love will flood it with light. When you decide that you wish to see above all else, you will.


W- I don’t see now?


G- no darling, only shadows.


W- why do I feel resistance to seeing? Why can’t I ask with my whole heart?


G- because things will change for you. Life as you know it will fall away. The little grievances you wrestle with, the problems you think you must solve, the things you chase, all will be seen for what it is — distraction. And a great duty will call to you, an inspiration to work, to surrender your human life to service. It is a great power and responsibility, one you’re not sure you can manage.


W- can I?


G- of course. When you wish to.


W- how long will it take until I’m ready?


G- Time isn’t the way to answer that. Nor ask it. It will depend on your being. How much pain are you willing to feel? How much fear will you bravely face? Then, finally, how much love will you allow to course through you after the pain washes away all that is not real?


W- will I be the same?


G- no. Not even close. & that is why you resist. You know where you are. Who you are. What you are. Or so you think. All of that will have to change. The people, the things around you, your world, all of it.


W- is it worth it?


G- you tell me.


W- I know it is.


G- it is the only way to live. All else is dying.


W- what if I fail? What if I can’t handle the job?


G- you will rise in it even more beautifully than I can imagine. That’s why you’re here. To expand my vision, my reach, my truth beyond what it is. You will fly my dear, if only for eternity, and it will be enough.



—the room floods with light and the players disappear--