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.

The Book of All things New

They had to banish the 'sickness.' They had to cure it. Jonathon, after discussing theories and observances with the others, said - We need an event, or a stunt, as they say in these times. Something to bring out the hidden goodness and the longing for spiritual closeness in the people. But something big. Something real, or at least something that seems real......... Albion, who had been watching television with some of the other 'young' ones heard and he came over. I could try to get us the talking Oprah woman from the magic mirror. That might help. - he said...... Jonathon hugged him and answered - Maybe it would...... Sarah luaghed - Can you imagine what that show would be like? YOU get a blessing! And YOU get a blessing! And YOU get a blessing! Along with the keys to brand new Volkswagon Jettas! She'd have Rabbi Shmuley up there and Marianne Williamson and a gospel choir and.... Edith chimes in - Ooh, I'd like to see that. Don't go disrespecting the 'O' lady........ Baylah says - Yeah, she's big, but she ain't the only one....... They all turn to her, expecting further explanation....... Sarah says - Why? What are you going to do?..... But Baylah only chuckles and says - Don't worry. It won't be the first time....................... Now the restaurants are crowded this time of year. Families draw together during the holidays. They have reunions. They have renewals. They have fights. They crave fellowship. And the crowds were particularly stiff at a certain Italian style place. I believe it is known as The Olive Garden. The flat, black, cinder-tar exterior plain adjacent to the inn-like structure was covered with all manner of mechanical conveyance. A long line of hungering humanity patiently waited for room at the tables. Baylah was also there. She was all alone and dressed in a long white, woolen gown. Over that, she  wore a pure blue, flowing, hooded mantle. Her dark, wavy hair spread softly down the front of her attire. She watched from a stand of shrubbery, initially meant to hide some of the air cooling mechanisms. Now the sun had already set, so she was safe, even though the sky was still violet and tinged with orange in a Maxfield Parrish kind of way. That's when she did it. That is when she made her 'miracle' happen. Baylah lowered her gaze. Her arms went up and her hands reached out as her feet left the ground and she sublimated up through the air, up through the molecules of nitrogen and oxygen, to a place where all could see her. And all of the people did see her. They gasped. Assorted bickerings stopped in mid bicker. Parents grabbed children. Grannies broke out in prayer....... And Baylah said five words. She said - Your hands are the hands of God....... She repeated it two or three more times maybe. Then she rose up to a great height and vanished. But what she actually did was sublimate through the air at great speed, so it only appeared as if she had vanished. Almost everyone on the ground came equipped with various forms of electrical communication devices. And the miraculous occurance was enscribed on countless image catchers and little talking things. The 'Word' was out and the media soon started screaming about 'Our Lady of the Olive Garden' and 'The Black Madonna.' By next morning, fifteen thousand people showed up. The place never took in so much money or sold so many bottles of wine. True, the toilets in the men's room and the ladies' room did overflow a few times, but when heaven speaks you have to expect things like that............. And for good measure, just a few leagues away, just as evening services were starting in the huge sanctuary of the great, Byzantine-Moorish, Rodeph Shalom Synagogue on North Broad Street,  at the precise instant the rabbi opened the Ark and prepared to take up the Torah scroll (the symbolic presence of God), a shimmering shaft of illumination pierced through an already darkening, ornate, stained glass window and came down to bathe him in its light. And that wasn't all. Jonathon sublimated through the translucent mosaic too, dressed in a suitably, scriptural  costume. He stopped. His feet dangled five cubits over the dumbstruck rabbi's head. He turned to face the silent, astonished congregants, threw out his arms and in his best Ancient Aramaic (almost an exact match for Liturgical Hebrew), said the same five words as Baylah - Your hands are God's hands. Then he continued to sublimate down through the bimah (altar-table), down through an opened Bible, continuing all the way to the basement, where he ran up some stairs and disappeared into the night.................. Up above, about four or five  piously devout Comcast executives (headquartered in Center City Philadelphia) were there to see it all. And four hours later, there was already a quickly prepared special on basic cable. That was it. The fire was lit. A miracle had happened. The people bore witness. And humanity (at least for the time being, was 'changed')............

The Book of All Things New

Zebulon again. Was trying to float through some of the Red Paint Folks, in an effort to learn about them, but discovered something else. Great pulses of mind energy expanding out into Creation. Seems to be originating in Rome, from the new Trinitarian Temple complex, known as The Vatican. Jonathon appears to be hearing something too, but he's attempting to hide it. He's nervous. I can tell. Baylah seems to be picking up on it too. Sarah busies herself with the 'children.' A regular Maria Von Trapp that one is. But she loves them and they are intrigued with her. I suppose they love her in their own way. Jonathon's eye is twitching. He's thinking. He remembers something. Humans still sick. It's bad here.....

The Book of All Things New

Please accept my apology. I was not able to communicate with you for what I think, in your world, translates into a three day period. I became entangled in another reality. That happens to spiritual beings from time to time. Did I enjot that other place? Yes, I did. Not that I enjoy all places. Especially not the ones where say, Nazi Germany won the war, or your nation never won the revolution, or the Inquisition is still in play, or miniature French Poodles can talk (such self centered, judgemental little beasts!). But that place was all right. They had the most friendly, intelligent praying mantis individuals. Quite well educated and creators of a hauntingly beautiful poetry. The marriage rites were a bit over the top for my taste. Everyone clicks their front claws for good luck when the bride chews through the neck of the groom and severs his insipidly smiling head. The ceremony, obviously takes place after the actual union. And there were other peculiarities. But at least the food was interesting (not that spirits get to partake of any), an assortment of live (though drugged) honey coated bumblebees, accompanied by other crunchy tidbits. Tell you more latter. Now back to our little dramatic episode. Christmas was uneventful. Sarah managed to make it nice for the eternal children. The two park workers got a load of those heavy, well made xylaphones they use in grade schools. You know, the ones with the white notes and the black notes on a piano-like keyboard. I don't know how they came across them. City employees seem to have their own sort of magic, if you know what I mean. The younger elves and the older cherubs greatly appreciated this gift. They took to them immediately. You should hear them. Within five minutes, they had mastered the Gould Variations and were hard at work on some variations of their own. They also got a flat screen TV and some DVD's. One was a new copy of an old favorite of theirs...the Mary Martin version of Peter Pan. Did that ever make them happy. They had their 'There Is a Land where Dreams are Born' song back. I think it is like a prayer to them. Speaking of payers, the humans could use some, because they are still all sick. The Old Woman, Edith, wilkravitz, some of the Pineys and Annie. Not Morticia so much. I suppose it is because she only visits, but does not actually reside here. I don't think the Red Paints are sick. Maybe they do not get sick. I'll have to remember to float through their bodies and see what I can find out. I did think a few of them were sick at first. But not now. I think all they had was the diarrhea. Albion insisted on making crab cakes and the Old Woman thought it was all just a big joke. Think I'll hide her false teeth and see how much she likes that, the cackling old fool! It is strange. The Shaky Hand Man is not here anymore. But he really is. The sickness comes from him. I don't know. Did we manage to over power him or didn't we? And what is he? Is he the source of all that negativity, or just another vehicle, the same as Annie? Jonathon, his consort Sarah and Baylah have been 'culling' on a regular basis. I think it agrees with them. Their eyes appear brighter. Their features more finely drawn. Their humor a bit more biting. And they all sport these trimly tailored, stylish new outfits from the huate chi-chi establishments on South Street. Sarah even got some new bedding for the bottom of that French wardrobe thing they snuggle in. I think she used a coupon from The Bed Bath and Beyond. Boy, if the salesclerk only knew how beyond. But the sickness really does worry them. Blood gifts do not help. I don't know what will happen. They'll have to try something.....

A Slight Midwinter's Digression

Jonathon has memories. He picutres scenes long gone, from places far away. There was an inn on the way to the manor of the great Rashi. They camped not far off and were able to witness the comings and goings . The building was contructed of stout, Catalonian gray stones. Long timbers spanned the heights,  providing support to the peaked, tiled roof. Pigeons, or some other similar breed, made their nests under the eaves and they fluttered 'round the structure like mustering angels. A thin, long tracing of fragrant smoke danced up from the chimeny (quite the modern marvel at the time) and disappeared into the watery, white, featureless sky. The traveling band of devout Jews (Jonathon, his father, other kin and retainers) did not enter the fine building for two reasons. Crusaders were abroad in the region and it was not in the least illegal (or immoral) to slaughter non Trinatarians. And if times were different and the souls 'round about a bit more congenial, the fare offered within would still not conform to the diet of righteousness. So they took their ease within a stand of trees, ate their cold repast (a fire would attract too much attention) and nervously  observed the personages entering and leaving the worthy establishment. There was an hidalgo (nobleman) and his entourage. Two nuns accompanied by some sort of  Christian religious, probably a deacon, went in. The usual compliment of merchants off to some trade fair or another. And then there came the woman. Now we all know hos unseemly it was for women to go traveling without some sort of male guardianship. But this woman was alone. She  stopped outside and looked down the coarse, primitive road  to the Israelite encampment. Ans she seemed to see them clearly through the trees. She could have sounded the alarm. She could have yelled -- Jews! Jews! There are Christ Killers abroad among us!! She could have thrown up her arms and run around screaming like a crazy person. But she did not. She just looked (actually locking eyes with Jonathon), smiled and nodded. Jonathon nodded back. She turned and proceeded in through the heavy, wooden door. A moment later a damp, chill breeze came through, stirring the leaves and scattering the dust. The Israelites retreated to their tents. When it was past and they came out, a light, lacy, wafer-like substance clung to the trees. Jonathon took a piece and tasted it. Then he took some to his father and the others and they tasted it too. A particular retainer who had been born and raised up in the Holy Land said that it was manna. And the others agreed. They ate and were nousished. The episode was over. But  Jonathon recalled the face of the woman. And she looked just like a medieval version of Peekaboo Street.

The Book of All Things New

Sarah and the Pineys took care of everything. The 'little ones' had a jolly holiday. The cherubs got mounds and mounds of fleecy stuffed toys and talking dolls. The elves got video games and CD players and CD's. They would have gotten iPods, but the universal mind-reading network (the internet, I think they call  it) doesn't reach this far. Sarah says they never had it hooked up and probably will not be able to. How would we ever explain this domestic arrangement to any cable guy they'd send out? So they make due with the magic singing discs and are very happy. Edith claims she can get us a wireless hook up, but that has yet to be seen. Jonathon (the vampire formerly known as Tomas) made up his annual load of 'bum bags.' He distributes them to homeless men huddling on steam vents and curled in doorways. Each large shopping bag has a blanket, gloves, scarves, a pillow, a few fifty dollar gift cards to various fast food establishments, a solar powered radio and a couple of bottles of something called Old Grand Dad. He's been at it for the last couple of nights, making trip, after trip, after trip. Baylah helps to. She's known as 'the shining angel' in the West African immigrant community, bountifully giving out handfuls of heavy, old, silver dollars to needy newsomers. Some of the little ones, the older ones primarily, the elves, also do what they have always done. They deliver tiny vials of magical restorative blood to struggling, weakened souls throughout the city. The Red Paint folks call this their 'season of prophecy.' Each sits at a table before a stack of clean, heavy weight, ivory paper. Each holds an old fashioned fountain pen. And they talk. And they whisper. And they write down everything that comes out of their mouths. Let me share one of their predictions with you. A kernel of peace will take root in the Holy Land. An era of great reconcilliation will commence. A leader will emerge among the people presently known as Palestinians. He will originate something new (and also very old). He will call his people The Ishmaelis - The Sons of Ishmael. And an agreement will be forged between the Sons of Abraham. There will be Two Sees, The See (state) of Israel and The See (state) of Ishmael. Both will prosper. Each will be brother to the other. And the Israelis and the Ishmaelis will live in peace. Palestinian was never a proper label anyway. It was a name revived by the Romans, showing disrespect for the original inhabitants of the region and calling to mind the ancient Phillistines, a quasi-Hellenistic group, who came in to occupy the land..... Who knows? Maybe the Red Paints are right? They're also calling for an Eagles Super Bowl Win and another Phillies World Series first place finish too. But they said nothing concerning the sports teams in Jerusalem or Babylon (my cities, the cities of Zebulon), so I am still waiting. Jonathon has started giving the Old Woman her blood gifts once again. She gurgles with delight and slurps it right up. You'd think it was maple syrup. Annie grows lethargic. I think it is due to the tiny spirit worms colonizing her tissues. wilkravitz suffers from the same malady. Some of the other humans do too. I am  going to have to see what I can do. Perhaps I will trickle through the ether and see what I can discover. Other spirits know other things.  Oh, Sarah gave Morticia ten thousand dollars in cash. That was a big hit. A few dozen fivehundred dollar Target gift cards were carefully slipped into the pockets of hardworking people on the subway. Some critically ill hospital patients made completely unexpected recoveries. Yes, via tiny gifts of the blood. The Season of Miracles goes on. Look, I know I've said this before, but please do not believe the lies you've heard about 'life eaters' or vampires. They're not like that. At least the 'nobel' ones are not. And to all who occupy tents in the vast Abrahamic Caravan.... enjoy the season..... and enjoy each other.....

The Book of All Things New

I want to tell you more about Annie. I was playing the role of Christmas Angel to some old people in a home (and quite enjoyed it), but this is important. The evil. little grains in her body are spontaneously generating into tiny, almost microscopic worms. They are in her saliva and also in the saliva (and bodies) of other mortals as well. wilkravitz has them and so does anybody else she spit on or sneezed on or coughed on. Spitting in someone else's food or drink counts too. She is one regular Typhoid Annie. Now if the contagion gets bad, if it gets life threatening or soul threatening, the only way (I know of) to combat it is with another kiss... a vampire's kiss. But that would mean the number of life eaters in Philadelphia would increase  to dangerous levels. That's no good. That's when more or less 'nobel' vampires go over to the shadow world and develope into what they call 'noxious' specimens. True, some of the noxious ones are born that way, but that's another story. Can you imagine two or three dozen hungry vampires slurpping up folks left and right? It would be 'hells-a-poppin'' all up and down Broad Street. Contracrors would go around selling folks 'vampire shelters.' The television news ladies would give the nightly vampire report. Preachers would commence to speechifying. The 'amens' would fly. And before you could say Count Chocula, they'd be burning folks on Market Street. . The real vampires would probably sublimate out of town to try their luck on the road. The burnt up ones would likely be poor, pathetic goth kids or anybody else with a case of the snake eye. We (well, the vampires and their friends, actually) must get controll of this situation before it spreads. And we also have to worry about putting together some sort of Christmas for the elves and cherubs. They have seen much sadness in their distorted lives. They deserve it. So far all we have are a few cartons of Britta water filtration pitchers, a mess of hyjacked tazor guns (don't ask) and a few dozen pairs of Payless high heeled shoes. Albion was doing the 'shopping' and you know how senseless that 'boy' can be. Sarah is going to run out and do  a T+T (Target + Toys R Us) marathon later on. She'll get it right. A few of the Piney's will help carry the packages. Oh, I just floated into this information. Baylah did a lot to spread around that 'collective good' currently observed in most parts of this city. She had a spirit deam a few nights before all that Eclipse/Solstice hoo-haa. It was her mother. She told her to swim through the hearts of humanity, to spread her loving essence among them. So Baylah walked all alone through that pre-Solstice night. All through Center City. All through the many marble-stepped, row house neighborhoods. She came to the great, vast holding pools of the reservoir. She stripped in the darkness and sublimated through an electric, security fence. The watchful computer did notice an ever so slight irregularity in the circuitry. And it dickered in its silicon heart with whether or not to sound the alarm. But then it decided not to. For even artificial intelligences hate to be thought insane. So Baylah got in. She stood on the cold, frost bitten, winter-dead grass and looked out over the glassy surface of the frigid, starlit pool. Then she used her nails to rake her skin. And when the blood began to bead up and flow, she dove in, swimming with great, sweeping strokes. Never once breaking the surface, leaving 'contrails' of diluted blood in her wake. Her enchanted molecules danced out, a horde of infinitely tiny, tadpoles. She was one with the water. And one with any human who would eventually drink it. Less than a day or two later, almost half the people in the city (not to mention temporary sojourners---I think they call them commuters) had been effected. Our world became a better place. And the mother of Baylah smiled.