Thursday, December 8, 2011


This is the state of humanity in the realm of which I speak. Untold legions of them crawl about on the orb known as Earth. Thousands congregate on the world known as Dagan. Excuse me. I use the ancient Semetic name for the God of War. You probably call him Ares, or Mars. Mars, yes...Mars....That's it. And a similar number hovers about the big honey colored one with the round, flat diadem. Cronos? Chronos? No, not chronus...Saturn...Yes, Saturn... Saturn-Saturn-Saturn... I have to remember that name. It's just that we who have incarnated in past ages are so intrigued by the vast, glittering arc they call home. How did you construct such a dazzling conveyance? Which jinn did you bribe? Is it true that your imperial necromancers brought forth such a thing on their own? Ah, such wonders. But you must remember that I am Zebulon, none but the disembodied spirit of a thirteen year old Judean boy. Your 'creation' is much bigger than ours. The Pillars of Samson (known to  you by that pagan stand-in, Hercules) marked the end of my world. True, the Phonecian fleet, under ageis of The Great Steward of God's Throne (King Solomon to you) touched the Tin Isles (Britian) and kissed lands far to the south of Punt (Sheba), but they were just exceptions to the rule. And now you like in a cosmos devoid of rules.

But know that I have seen realms aplenty. Ten to your 'north' and six to your 'south.' The one with all the problems spoons close to you. It is the first one to the 'north.' Your cauldron stirrers call them parallel universes. Yet the pox afflicting them is contagious. Beware. Protect yourself. Light fires. Burn incense. Sacrifice virgins, if such is still your custom. Zebulon knows so little of unbelievers.

Yet these people from 'first to the north' show promise. Perhaps they can best this pestilence. Or perhaps it is not truly a pestilence at all. Permitt me to share what I know about that other Holy City...that other Jerusalem..... a mirror image to yours in oh, so many ways.....

Lailah came back from the Sky Princes. Her father found her asleep in her bed. The shock almost killed him. But he is used to miracles, or the possibility of miracles, so he managed to survive. Three hundred heartbeats later, after replacing his pissed up garments with clean ones, he knelt by her pallet, listening to her tell of the sojourn in the sky.

Now he is a man of what you term the Twenty First Century. He's seen copies of The National Geographic. He has tasted the gastronomic wonders of limitless buffets. Fried calamari is as naught to him. Jiggling cubes of 'Jello' are but toys. Yet this recollection astounded him. And he ran his fingers in amongst her teeth, searching for the lethal fangs. For he knew that his daughter was a life-eater, though he'd hoped the affliction might have passed.

The cat-like eye teeth were still there. He slumped down onto the cold, tile floor in disappointment.

And outside the night that was not night, or the day that never dawned, went on, as the spiritual navel of Creation endured under a dull, dead, green-black sky. Food was hard to get. Theives scooped up every crumb. All the lambs were slaughtered. Now the kids were next. (please do not be confused. I speak of little goatkins and not the rude, young, humans you so readily breed). Corn and millet and rye had long since been baked into cakes and devoured. Most lived on cans of soup...Dinty Moore Beef Stew.... and cellophane wrapped tendons of Beef Jerky. Those fellow Proclaimers of God's Unity, whether Jew or Muslim were sorely afflicted, for a 'Righteous, Clean' diet proved almost non-existent. But good shoots sometimes spring from moldy seeds. And the two 'brothers,' the two Son's of Abraham (whether figuratively or literally... humans are such whores {Ooh! I said it!}who can possibly know such a thing?) helped each other. Foodstuffs were shared. Prayers said in common. And help went both ways. At first few noticed. But after a time...they did......

And the luminous relic, resting down in the cellar, began to resonate. Maybe there would be a worthy 'final act' before the end? But the play is not yet done. The 'noxious' life-eaters have yet to speak. Pray their scenes are short.


maybe a few prayers might help these links? you know the problems we've been having with them.  (gadzooks! it worked!)  ..  ..  ..  ..  .. ..... I KNOW there are many more, but I cannot recall them. Please understand. tweet me. Remind me. I will put them up tomorrow.


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