Wednesday, October 19, 2011


I inhabit a world floating within a tiny bubble rising up through the fermanted liquid in a clear, crystal flute of champagne. An isolated moment to you is our ten billion years. But I heard. And I know the truth. So I answered. We too wear shapes such as yours. Our eyes see like yours. Our fingers touch like yours. And our souls feel just as deeply. Listen and allow me to share what I know.

Humans do not evolve. Humanity does. The whole is composed of many parts, each with a God given mandate to fulfill. Some are as sand grains strewn across the shore, meant to hold back the sea and preserve the rest. Others dance like moonbeams, decorating the darkness with wonder and light. While a few are like raindrops, sent from the sky to wash away corruption.

Those among you called vampires, those metamorphic beings, those spiritual changelings are like that rain, erooding creation and transforming it. I know your tale. I know what has transpired. Disembodied spirits fill the void. Souls incarnate everywhere. A lifetime here. A lifetime there. Your saints have cried here too. So I understand.

Jonathon feels lost. The Pilgrimage to Jerusalem did not work. The world (as you know it) is not changed. So he retreats into indulgence. He works his sins and laps up vile food. Look at him remembering other life-threads. Who is he now? Was his story just a lie? wilkravitz thinks so. Yet he is but a tiny grain holding back the sea. Jonathon ben Macabi.......Tomas de Macabe, in medieval Spain. Harry the dustman, or Lucy McGoosey. What does it matter?

Papa knows this. So does the Lady Renate. Though they keep close counsel, disturbing not the others. And Crazy Annie laughs. Our 'eightteen' year old changeling of a thousand years lays restless on his pallet, rejecting the pleasures of his consort, Sarah. And she remembers his actions down in the pit those heartbeats ago and forgives him. For she feels his despair. Jerusalem is lost. Or is it? Lailah is still there. The Chevalier Jean-Michel keeps faithful  guard, as do many other minor functionaries. The three musicians, Dylan, Islam and the ressurrected Lennon, continue spinning songs of peace. And the Dream still goes on. It may take a bit more time and time is an extreemly elastic substance. When you finish reading this, my world will be long gone, consumed by our swollen, microscopic sun, though the words left my brain long before.

The vampires exist to help you grow. Humanity, I mean . The phrase, Not the Shepherd, but the Sheepdog, is true. They are merely a component of the race (I see that your wilkravitz' communicating device is chuckling again. Perhaps he will teach it a lesson and crush it? Perhaps he will replace it with a new cooperative one two months from now when your gift-giving season arrives?) Does the smaller script confound you? I sincerely hope not.

Those you call life-eaters have absorbed a special essence. Some among you know it as the Prometheus Spark. Is it easy to bear? No? Is it necessary? Yes. Look, you could catch it too. Think of it as a social disease. Fatal, but not deadly. For those so burdened hasten not to die.

Ah, the world is so filled with spectacular things

I'm sure we should all be as happy as kings.
Who wrote that? Certainly not I.

Jonathon will get back on course. You have seen his evil face.....and not just his. Forgive them these transgressions. Wait for them to learn. And then wait again. For it will happen and happen and happen and happen. But so will the miracles. And now please excuse me. I am but a humble coachman. The stable beckons and my horses need their rest....


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