Thursday, January 2, 2014

The DISEMBODIED SPIRIT known as JOHANNON TALKS...... 1/2/13

I am the spirit-narrator known as Johannon. In the flesh I was body servant to the young and still mortal Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea. I saved him when evil Crusader brigands burned that Provencal synagogue. He lived. I died. Although, what really happened to me? My essence did not change. I am still here. Well, when I want to be. For I see other realms too. And although not yet admitted to The Radiance of The Sapphire Throne, that too will happen. What you call a thousand years is not so long. I can wait. I know oblivion is but an illusion. The best is yet to come. Though my life-eater charge, your Tomas, also known as Jonathon, does not know for sure. He has faith... most of the time, but with occasional lapses. This age we pass through is scientific and people are so literal. Newborns are given percentiles and the dead go into coffins in the ground. Do they believe in The World To Come? Do you? How self-serving and cynical this world is. I see the commercials. I know that word. Sick children wracked with a terrible wasting disease, go to a facility called 'Saint Jude's' where they are attended to by those providing costly, costly, costly medical services. Though families pay not one shekel. Yet millions of your dollars are collected every year, for they who provide those services expect to be paid. Their fees are pegged to possible benefits and in few ways related to the actual task performed. Families don't pay, but many, many, many others do. The physician wants that money. I wonder what the nurse gets. In my time healers answered a 'call.' Now no one does... in any field.  You are your brother's keeper. It's written in both The Unitarian and Trinitarian Bibles. You know that. I know you do.

Poor Jonathon. He sits. He thinks. He has his dreams. See him in there all alone. The screen-of-visions is dark. No stories pour forth from that surface. And the hearth burns with a low, weak, orange glow. A vampire ponders death. He asks - What if all I believe is but illusion? What if life is life and death is death and dark is dark? What color is oblivion? Edith silently enters from the kitchen with a hot, clear cider. She puts it down (on a napkin) where he can get it and leaves. But he doesn't even know she was there. 

Tomorrow night he meets with the young people again... five more new ones. Liam and Max and Kevin and the other one are bringing friends. He'll put little drops of his blood in the tea. They'll drink it. This is the second time, so they shouldn't be so reluctant. I don't know if they'll be able to meet in that little cafe anymore. The booth in the back will be too small. He's going to need a bigger place. 

They have to go out and make the world a better place. His blood strengthens them. Cures illness and all that. Then they have to come back and talk about it and go out and do it again..... Like a paranormal Weight Watchers, or Gamblers Anonymous. I see things. I know.

But he wonders. This scientific age breeds doubt. Is some miraculous spark there in the blood which he passes along, or is it just microbial in nature? Could there be some prion, undiscovered by science, responsible for it all? Is it even possible to know. 

When we recite the Tenants of The Faith during services in the synagogue (which means meeting house) we say 'I believe with a most perfect faith...' ... 'Most perfect'.... How comforting that must be.

I hope my one time charge remembers.....

Next time you'll go back to the entities in Russia, but I wanted you to know...

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