The Book of All Things New

Now... one night has gone by and here is where we are vis-a-vis our 'heavenly' messengers. This morning's services were a bit more well attended at the North Broad Street Synagogue. No, wait. It is actually not a synagogue. Rodeph Shalom is a Reformed congregation (a dead former member set me straight) and termed a 'temple,' and not a synagogue. Picky. Me (Zebulon) in my time, we called them Beit K'nesset (bate keh nessette) , which means 'meeting house' or 'house of assembly,' much as the Trinitarian group known as 'Friends' does today. But I must say, I caught a few episodes of their presentation in the magic mirror-television thing and I could not understand it. But I believe they promote the consumption of healthful breakfast cereals (oatmeal, I'm told it is called) and that in itself is a good thing. Where was I? Oh, yes,....'Temple Rodeph Shalom'..... One could not obtain a spot to tie up one's vehicle for a good two leagues in all directions. Indeed, little Robbie Leiberman (the leader of some sort of annual youth service) had more people in the seats than Justin Bieber when he played Toronto (the first time, not the second). And it was like this everywhere. The basilicas of the Ornate Trinitarians were packed. The less elabotate structures of the Plain Trinitarians were packed. The prayer houses of The children of Ishmael (very similar to what we had in Babylon, I must say) were packed too. And what is more important, all those 'food drive' bins found in marketplaces were brimming with donated, metallic cylinders containing all sorts of high sodium delicacies. A painted up smiley, happy girl in the magic mirror, claimed that six hundred and thirteen hand guns ( a sum equal to the number of blessings in the first five books of the Unitarian Scriptures, I might add) were turned in to the municipal security forces. So I guess the number of 'caps busted into people' will go down accordingly. Another suddenly spiritually inspired group distributed coupons good for two free 'buffet' dinners at The Showboat Hotel Casino in Atlantic City. And while I do not know what manner of animal a 'buffet' is, the mere mention of its name seems to drive  people into states of delerium. Granted, a certain number of inndividuals planning to dine on these mysterious delights turned out to be homeless and lacked the means to attend this glorious repast. They cried forth from magic mirrors everywhere, explaining to a different smiley lady that they 'ain't got no ride, Jesus Christ!' I presume their prayers worked, for I heard that fifteen busses, complete with drivers, were quickly forthcoming.........And the mortals infected with these strange, worms of the spirit likewise began to heal. I suppose it is like the part where Tinkerbell gets sick . You know, in Peter Pan. What with all the elves and cherubs, we  of the Fairmount Park redout are thoroughly familiar with that, since they play the disc constantly. So it is like that. It is as they say - 'You gotta believe. You gotta believe. You gotta believe.'....... Well, maybe it was a certain much beloved 'relief pitcher' known as 'Tug' MacGraw who said that..... But you get the idea................................... Oh, as hinted earlier, the being responsible for the creation of Tomas/Jonathon  wants 'out.' His captors find it increasingly difficult to contain him. The ghost of Leonardo Da Vinci (also ensnared in the same ancient web) tries to console him, but to no avail. And his handlers, hidden deep within the maze of Vatican  hierarchies (and unknown to others of the religious community) fear the worst. They fear an escape...... If it happens, I presume one of the smiley, magic mirror faces (male or feamale) will tell us all about it.