Thursday, April 3, 2014
Bob Dylan and Norah Jones - I Shall Be Released (Live) ... Tomas (also known as Jonathon) always liked this song... WORDS FROM 'THE WORLD TO COME .. 4/2/14
Don't say 'Rest in peace.' That is not how it its. That is not what we do. The World To Come is not another place. It is not a break from where you are, but an elaboration, an out growth, a wider view. I see that now. I know it. We rest here. We learn here and we work, bearing truth to all. We are muse. We bring clarity. All hear, though few listen.
And I am not Tomas. I am Jonathon. I am home. All are home here, even atheists... For by their deeds ye shall know them. Am I absolved? No. Those I've harmed will get their day. And I will know their pain. But that will pass and I shall be released. That is my absolution and it is yet to come, or at least I must explain it that way. Time is another thing here. For I will also confront they who have harmed me. And I shall forgive them all.
Oh, but the view is beautiful. Golden Cordoba, awash in the late day sun. I see with such precision. I hear a million prayers.... in Hebrew, Aramaic, Latin and Old Arabic... All creeds, but one faith. For the purpose of revealed religion is to make us better people. Those that do less are false.
And The World To Come has many 'chapels.' There are equally splendid places for every other 'ism' in Creation. Please note that I said 'Creation' and not Earth. For the righteous of all groups shall share in The World To Come.
Why did I 'die' that other night? Some souls ask that. I feel it. I hear it. But even I don't know... not for sure anyway. Perhaps such things are just ordained? Perhaps I secretly wanted to?
They say there are unicorn here. Other things too. I know not all the names. Maybe I'll see them.
And in the City of Philadelphia, on the narrow, cobbled street, the red brick townhouse is quiet. Sarah sits in the little morning room off the kitchen with my old, leather-bound copy of La Ciencia Vampirismo in her lap. She knows some Spanish. But it is in Old Spanish and Old Vahmperigo too. Perhaps a scholar at the Penn Museum will help her? They knew me there. Someone will assist her.
Doctor Franklin is there. He sits in the kitchen with Baylah and Leo. Edith serves tea. The two conservatively dressed gentlemen in the family room are 'familiars.' One is a financial adviser. The other a lawyer. Their wives, strictly speaking, are not 'familiars.' I don't know how they feel about night-folk. But they're polite and respectful. The taller woman gave Sarah a book, 'The Half Left Behind,' a guide to grief for the surviving spouse. The little one brought 'schnechen,' small, cookie-like pastries wrapped up in a pretty box. Probably stopped on the way and ran into a gourmet bakery. I think I know the one. Little Joe's still there. He went to see a show this afternoon. Some musical. I don't know which one. Then he had shepherd's pie at The Irish Pub. Says he did it in honor of Pig Blood Annie, his late wife and my co-victim. He wants to go to the zoo, in honor of her too... and maybe have drinks in honor of her at that new place on top of The Hotel Monaco.
They're going to have a service. Some 'familiar' arranged for a niche at Laurel Hill. Not a small, architecturally distinct (up to a point) private mausoleum, like Billy blogged about a few weeks ago. This is a nice, classically simple, long, marble hall. My urn will go in seven slots from the south entrance, right hand side and fourth up from the floor. They say that's a good spot. Right above a dead gentleman who once owned a trucking company and right below the wife of a circus clown. The clown's still alive, or 'in the flesh,' as we say over here.
Edith scraped up my remains. Most of you know what happens. Dead vampires spontaneously ignite into what we call a 'cold' blue flame. Still warm. Hot actually, just not burning. We just call it that. Big, pale, flake-like ashes rise up from the fire and waft into space, sublimating through floors, ceilings and roofs til they do. I 'died' on the roof, so that sublimating part wasn't necessary. She took a little hand spade from the tiny kitchen garden out back, gathered up what was left... some grease... a few bits and pieces... and reverently put it all into a decorative, little can that once held sachet. Lavender, I think. Fitting when you consider how 'life-eaters' (vampires) like aroma candles. And the lid does snap on tight, but Laurel Hill has rules, so they'll transfer me into a goblet, or chalice-like bronze vessel with a professionally sealed top.... a genii in a bottle that no one will ever rub, except maybe an archaeologist when they excavate the place sometime in the future.
They're going to have the service tomorrow night. It has to be after dark. You know, vampires and all. I'm sure the elferinos and elferinas will be there. Odd to think that my assassin is one of them. A flawed specimen, but elferino nonetheless. Though he is not important.... I suppose dogwoods and other early blooms will be out. That will be nice. Baylah said the male singer from her piano bar will sing. I heard her say it. I Shall Be Released, I think it is.
I like that.
Now please let me go. I want to hover around Sarah. I think she knows I'm here.
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