All contents herein are the soleproperty and copyright of Christopher ThomasDutton and are not to be copied except forindividual personal use. Quotations areallowed for other written, video or audioworks with written permission. No commercialuse is allowed except with written permissionof the author. Alteration of contents is notallowed. For further information orcommercial requests contact the author. Thankyou.

1

“Why should we be in such adesperate haste to succeed and insuch desperate enterprises? If a mandoes not keep with his companions,perhaps it is because he hears adifferent drummer.” Henry David Thoreau

“When there are persons to befound, who form an exception to theapparent unanimity of the world onany subject, even if the world is inthe right, it is always probablethat dissentients have somethingworth hearing to say for themselves,and that truth would lose somethingby their silence.”

John Stuart Mill, OnLiberty

2

INDEX

CHAPTERS PAGE

Dedication 4 An Apology 5 Thanks 7 Introduction 11 Synopsis 13 Chapter One 15 Chapter Two 82 Chapter Three 111 Chapter Four 222 Chapter Five 289 Chapter Six 437 Chapter Seven 553 Epilogue 704

3

DedicationOnce upon a time there was a

man who had two sons. Sad to say hedidn’t do really a lot for these twosons, though he did love them in hisway.

For me, he did do one greatthing once. When I was at a loss asto what to do over an addiction, hemade a call. Friends of his sentfriends of theirs. And they becamemy friends and I got better. Ihealed and changed.

That healing and change led tomy life, my happiness, my love, mychildren, my grandchild, mysearching, this book.

All because that man, myfather, Thomas Desmond Dutton, nowdeceased, made that one phone call.

So I dedicate this book tohim. Partially.

I also dedicate it to theother man who basically filled inmost of the other parts of myfather. My older brother, Brian.

You see, for some men, alifetime may be summed up, perhaps,in doing one thing of good forsomeone.

For others, a lifetime isabout doing good for others all thatlifetime. That is a brother.

That is my brother.

4

An Apology

I would like to apologies toany women who read this book, to allwomen in fact.

Because the novel was set inbiblical times shortly after theDeath of Christ, I used discussionswhich were very much gender biased.Towards the patriarchal.

The writing, therefore tendsto use nouns like ‘man’, and ‘men’instead of ‘people’ or ‘human’.

It was a ‘failing’ which Istruggled with since it is not whatI believe in but it made thedialogue seem to be more accuratefor the historical period.

Wether this was fully accurateor not, I don’t know. the extent atwhich women were involved inreligious matters and discussionswas, I believe, minimal in thosetimes. That, of course, wassociety’s loss as it continues to betoday.

Like racism or slavery orelitism, no Society can be Just andHumane which excludes any members ofthat Society from full political,economical and theologicalparticipation. It is absolutelyabsurd when based on gender, thus

5

attempting to exclude 50 percent ofthe population.

Exclusion is not ‘God’s way’it is ‘men’s way’. It is not human.

So I apologize again for theuse of ‘men’ and ‘man’...I pray Idid not offend too much...

6

ThanksHow many people lead us into

writing a book, through a book andending a book? There are always somany people an author knows andworks with who have helped him overthe months and years write his orher book. Loved ones who toleratehis whining for time alone.Editors and friends who give soundadvice and critique. We list thosethat inspire us by daily or pastcontact whom we know intimately asfriendsand loved ones.

But there are more. Many more.These are the ‘lost’ voices to theconscious mind but surfacing againto the sub-conscious. There is themisted eye of the homeless man whoperhaps on that day ‘nudges’inspiration to continue questionsociety’s values. A young woman’slaugh with her child two tablesover. The contempt of an expensivetie passing you in the street. Aprisoner being beaten on a cellphone camera. A very tired face at acoffee shop somehow finding thecourage to smile at your friendlyjoke as cash changes hands.Broken teeth near an empty factory. A newscaster makingannouncements of political intrigue

7

involving leaders you will nevermeet. Wether their coffee cup haswater or coffee in it? Wether theyare indeed left handed or righthanded based on the cup’s placementon the desk? Wether or not thehandle is turned towards them oraway, signifying a culture either of‘grassroots’ or ‘old boy’. Andrealizing that mattered for themoment in your mind more than thedeath of a thousandprotestors....because caring overand over and over again exhausts theheart...which is indeed the triumphof evil. And will one more typedsentence change any of that?

That I do not know...I onlyknow for sure that silence will not.

It does not seem right,however, to thank the Silent fortheir desperation and despair whichI have used to inspire the innersearches of this book. It would bebetter that I offered my apologiesand shame than my thanks.

Thanking them for being aliveto touch me, touch my soul....andfor forgiving me for using theirblood and tears as my paint. I donot do such a thing for evil, Iwould wish with all my heart that Ihad no reason, no materials, nohuman tragic oils to paint with.

So many have lived in briefand in too long, these man-made

8

hells.There is no good which can

come out of that place, least ofall...mere books.

I do not believe that evil isnecessary to give background andshadow that we may see the good. Ifall the world was a transparentclear, we would not "crash" intoeach other. We see each other nowand react more like mad bulls thancrystalline angels.

Writing about good and evil isa circle. Always. It can be thecircle of the hawk, the vulture orthe dove. Or a kingfisher. Divingbelow the surface to recover strangelooking metaphors.

Because Good men and womenhave difficulty describing their ownevil and the Evil are alwaysreconstructing their philosophy intoseemingly Good.

So amongst all this are theSilent. Perhaps they speak a littlebut are difficult to hear.

They speak only with drops ofblood. Their own blood. Theirparent’s blood. Their children’sblood.

I thank them because anythinghumane about humanity; anythingcivil about civilization has comefrom their Blood; their Silence;their Suffering; their Waiting.

The Great, the Learned, the

9

Leaders are nothing... who remembersthe lead hyena from pack to pack,decade to decade?...

it is the rest of us... thecommon man... which is the Soil ofall Human History...

We are given...and then wegive back...

...that is my gratitude...forno one makes a better world than theman or woman dying beside me...dyingwith me...

10

Introduction (written in 1992 at book’sconception)

Dear friends,Let any who come upon this

weave of words and thoughts bereluctant in their scrutiny of itsconstruction. Keep to the distanceof wide vision, not that I fear thedetection of flaws (though they areas much as I am flawed) but that asin you unravel the loose thread ofthe tapestry...what was grandbecomes ..alas.. rags.. Becomingless and less to your eyes until avoice has become a drooling mumble.Then your ears can not heed awhisper from man to man , and we,reader, are lost and separate again.

For those who begin read and amind is puzzled but a heart criesnot, leave the pages be. Do not goon. For thou hast been spared ,Friend, and your heart knows not thenotes of despair in tyranny. Someparts of life or hell have touchedyou not. Cease reading, reader, Iwill not open that door to you.

For those of you who studywithout comprehension, yet yourheart has such a grievous time thatsuch as these pages grow heavier andheavier in the dampness of yourtears, cease the torment, my friend.For it is a perversion against

11

ourselves to take upon crueltywithout reason; life is already toomuch a whip with an unseen hand.Rather go and find thyself acaterpillar, spend the daysobserving its slumber. This is mybook. You need no more of the darknight; that dark cocoon. Your heartof pure and natural speaks alreadythe yearn of flight.

There are those of you, who Ifear, are plagued to grieve andhaving the burden of understanding,I beg read on. For thy sake andmine. For this is not written toimpart knowledge or wisdom,( I am noteacher) but rather my hand movedacross these pages as a hand gropesin the dark. Hoping. Begging. Foranother human hand, other hands,that reach too in this cold terrorenveloping blank. So I beg read on,heed my whimpers, grope as I grope.We will touch, I know it. I canoffer that hope, little else. Ibelieve in the necessity of thyjourney, as I believe in mine. Imust. For I have grievous need ofanother human touch of hand in thesedim and dismal times.

12

Synopsis of NovelThe beggar boy, the main

character of this book, was theadopted son of Christ but wasabandoned by the disciples after thecrucifixion.

As a young man, he returns forseven days to the City to take up‘his Father’s work, in an attempt torectify his ‘distance’ fromhumanity, from his own soul, his owndestiny.

He uses logic, reason and anappeal for human compassion to tryto bridge to the people of the Citybut finds over and over only failurefor himself as he cannot be ‘ insidethe people’ as Christ could.

Each time he sees this deeplyas his own self-failure.

In Chapter Seven the youngBeggar leaves the City in thecompany of a strange new prophet andcomes upon a village carved out ofhope and salvation but slippingagain into despair.

Chapter one to three...Dealswith concepts of creation, man, god;in that a god will have no greatnessmore than the man which creates it,and it, the man. Beggar boy sellsmirrors to be the idols of theirpersonal gods. Then , he must fightin court to disprove the crime of

13

fraud against the people.

Chapter four. Beggar boyinterrupts a ‘beating’ byschoolmaster of young boys. Thediscussion explores crime vs.punishment as a tool of ‘change’.

Chapter five. Beggar exploresextremes of poverty, leadership andtyranny as he progresses from poorhovels to an execution pit to theking’s audience. He pleas for thelives of condemned slaves. Exploresconcepts of social order, tyranny,freedom.

Chapter six. Beggar interruptsargument amongst three brothers overlaw vs. assisted suicide for theirfather. The concept argued is wetherconscience of ‘I’ is aboveconscience of communal law.

Chapter seven. Beggar leavesCity with a mad poet who has startedan alternative community in themountains. Explores concepts thatlogic and reason alone cannot propelhuman development; passion of beliefor blind faith is also necessary forevolution. Compares the fate of theindividual vs. the ‘needs’ ofsociety’s historical destinies.

14

The First Day

In the market place, they soldtheir gods. The God-Merchants. In acircle of stalls at the centre ofthe Market square.So the crowd would continually millround and round. Deciding. Puzzling.

Most of the time there wereten or twenty of these merchantshawking their wares, in all garb anddisguise from close and far lands.Hatted, bearded, naked, robed, allheights and widths.

And the Gods too, of everyimage and construction.

Multi-limbed, ugly, beautiful,gold, silver, clay, slender, bent.The only consistency in the wholemirage of display seemed to be thatthe merchants never fit their ownwares.Tall, thin in plain robes, heldaloft in a bony grasp a fat plumpsleepy image that promised moredocility than greed. Or someenormous spread in velvet robe, heldclay moulded to humble reflect.

The barbarian, who roared infur, offered an ebony lamb. A nakedmerchant offered a cast of gold. Ina form to the shape of a lion’shead. The devout placed their headsin it when it was suspended by athread high in a tree. There prayers

15

were made for a blessing. A small yellowish man in dark

cloth offered a stone god shaped inthe curl of a man. Those of wealthwho would wish to make restitutioncarried the Stone upon theirshoulders as a symbol of their loveof man for a few minutes each day.

And more. Ugly men traded inbeauty. The noble demean in shoddy;the whole in broken; the broken inwhole; the quarters in crumbs andthe crumbs sold a universe.

It was this contrast whichgave all a sense of validity to thecrowd. Though not openly said it wasunderstood. As all that they soldwas false, then they themselves mustbe true. And thereby granted to thepeople the illusion of faith. Asmerchants, they truly believed inthe falsehood of their wares.As false. Utterly. And in so doing,sold their own perfection of truthin tiny bits. Till all thefalsehoods were depleted. Then moremust be made and sold to convinceagain the crowd of the Merchants’ultimate evaluation of Truth.

For the crowd had come topurchase faith, belief; not a god assuch. The false god offered wasnever to be debated as true orfalse. For the danger being that ashred of truth might be found withinthe god. And thereby, by the

16

unwritten Law of contrasts, a shredof falsehood be found in themerchant. And the totality of beliefor faith would shatter.

This faith, this belief couldbe called The Great Mask coveringThe Tiny Spreading Grin. As anyindividual in the crowd would movetowards death, they would begin asmile of escape or anticipation likesomeone who knows they are beingreleased from a death bed or lepercolony. An impatience, an eagernessto shed the hands. Hands, which inall shapes and grasps, have pluckedat an individual since birth. Likecrows at some dead thing, they havetorn piece by piece, the nobility,the dignity of individual existence.

In this vast place of disease,always the clutching, wrapping,prodding, pulling, pushing of hands.Hands not to heal the one but ratherhands to bind all together and theSpecies.

The Species must not die evenat the cost of the individual'sdeath. The Species in its frenzied,grim face,· looks upon all as atotal greater than the sum. And,therefore, the total is more worthyof worship; more demanding in itsneed.

When a man meets another man,he becomes one of men; no longer asingle solitary Man complete upon

17

himself. He must give up a portionof himself to absorb the portion ofthe other man offered in hand. Allthoughts, all spoken words must bereworked to fit the presence of theother man.

As the crowd grows, each mansheds, drips, decays more parts awayfrom himself, till strangely enough,the man feels as if he can't bedistant of the species or he w11lunravel and his very putridness willnow be exposed.

Ah, but Death, sweet, nobleDeath brings back to the man itslost twin, Hope. A promise of ajourney unique, outside the Species,senseless to its demand of sacrificeto the collective life (at all costsimaginable).

Death promises a place outsidethe hands, never mind some vagueconcept of hereafter; that is smallin its importance.

What is vast, of greatconsequence, is the few breaths, aword, seconds as a Man. To betotally alive and alone with thedignity of oneself. And the shorttime leading to this; thevisitations, the faint raps at thewindow, these are a delightfulmapping, a hint of the greatVacation to come.

These being the Tiny SpreadingGrin, which the Species abhors.

18

Since its collectivity andperpetuality is nailed to eachindividual's cling to life.

So the Great Mask is worn. Tomasquerade belief in Death as ajourney of all mankind. Aprogression of the Species upward,upward. Not a Death as a division, aparting, a subtracting away as eachman finally tastes ultimatealoneness and therefore freedom fromtyranny of submission.

If none wore masks, the oozingopen wounds of the very bowels andhearts of a Man would lie in fullview. All would see the wounds ofall. All would see the tinyspreading grin of all. What manwould hold another to stay his ownGreat path of Healing? What manwould not help another as he wouldwish the other to help him?And like grinning children holdinghands all skip to the Abyss and takea laughing leap to Joy to Hope toDeath.

This, the bitch Species cannotallow. Hence the suckled instinct inbelief, in faith beyond just anindividual Man. It was meant only tobring faith in the pack but the sapwas too sweet the mob too bitter.

The pack howled for more,broke free, went awry, and camehungry to at a closed door to grovelfor a master.

19

So the man sits. So all sit,wearing the Mask of faith in a doorto open. It never does. It isonly until the last dark night thatthe spell can be thrown off the dog,the Mask ripped away and a wolfresurrected. A Man reborn to die. Torun wild through the unknownforests, his teeth flashing a madrelease of glee in the nakedmoonlight.

So the Merchants and gods andhasty built stalls and a millingcrowd. Each one in the crowd movingfrom stall to stall in an everdecreasing spiral. For when theywould stop to peer at the wares ateach stall, both merchants on eitherside would pitch their sales, in aunique way.

Unique to the selling of gods.They would roar and shoutcondemnations and every demonic orsuperstitious label upon the onebuyer standing before theirneighbour's stall; accuse thelooker, the buyer of all sins andvices because he dared to even lookupon their neighbour's god.

In this way, the crowd wasshamed to shuffle on and on. As soonas a man moved from one stall where,as he stood, those merchants on theright and left had destroyed hisentire reputation, he would begreeted by silence from the merchant

20

who had just declared him loathsome.For now that merchant was busydeclaring the vileness of some newoccupant at his neighbour's stall.That occupant furtively looking topurchase, but actually moreattempting to escape each fresh spewof abuse.

As more people pressed fromthe outside, the inside was pushedtighter and closer to the stall,till someone would be shoved hardagainst a table and thereby, bychance , inherit the purchase of hisgod.

Two such men, their freshlybought gods in hand had just elbowedtheir way back out of the crowd. Onea tall man, with a lean nose, wasdressed in a long striped robe. Hecarried a tiny idol shaped like aturtle. Another man, shorter,fatter, kinder looking than theother; he carried a one foot longgolden grasshopper. This man wasdressed in a loosely wrapped whiterobe and wore a small white cap.

As they walked to the exit ofthe Market square, they fumbled andturned these purchases. Their faceshad an unsure look as if undecidedthat these gods were agreeable totheir wants or lives.

As if now wondering if theywere indeed too large for the

21

mantelpiece waiting undusted athome. Each had a hesitant fingerprobing the hollowness, scratchingat the gold fleck or ringing itshead for trueness.

Yet neither would put words ofdoubt to those furtive checks; wouldnot speak to his neighbour theunholy vowels of disbelief. Eachwithin himself acknowledged hisuniqueness in simply wearing a maskfor the sake of others who neededthe falseness of this strength inthe Ir lives. Each believed himselftoo kind to strike down another’saltar and thereby cause anotheranguish in his emptiness. Each knewthat they had strength of integrityto go alone but they also had muchcompassion of heart and thereforeallowed themselves this pretense. Asmall lie for the other, the otherwho likely could not bear the jar ofcontemplation spread thickly on hisdaily bread.

So in exactly the same spiritthat civilizations are born, eachman dusted the frown of himself fromthe brow of his god, placed hisneighbourly duty upon his own face,tucked virtue under his arm andstrode lighter stepped in soul.

Side by side they walked andtalked of the latest grape harvestand how that may affect the peoplein their choice of mayor. As they

22

came to the exit, there was, leaningagainst the gate, an odd look of ayoung fellow.

He was obviously poor, dressedin rags. Except for a red colouredturban, which with his cocky hint ofairs, gave him the appearance of asultan’s prince. A small thin beardtoo, and deep dark brown eyes,almost mystic, suggested a learnedman or at least, very clever.

The two men would have passedby with a nod except the youngscruff spoke out: "Good day, mynoble gentlemen. A fine season forbuying your gods, is it not?"

Now it is the normal custom tonot speak of the purchase of a godonce it has been done. An acceptedthing since continual talk of"buying" lends a tainted stain tothe belief, a reminder of the dayand its less than genteel ordignified impressions.

Tradition decreed that allpretend to the assumption that a manhad retained the same god all hislife. This tradition was held tillthe next annual pilgrimage to theMarket square. After purchase andthe few necessary rituals, theTradition was again religiouslyadhered to. So retaining the steadytrickle of belief with no scores ofmark on the Great Mask.. Though thetwo men had not yet left the Square,

23

the young man was showing remarkablebad taste in alluding to theirpurchases. In fact, had they beenoutside the Square, he would likelyhave been arrested and flogged.

As such, to avoid anymoreunpleasant interlopes, the two menignored the query and began to passthrough the gate. But the beggarstepped in front of them, held hishands to stop and laughingly spoke:"Please, please, kind sirs. I beghalt. I am a stranger somewhat theseparts. I only heard tell of theSquare and this day vaguely. I wouldbe humbled much in your grace if youwould cast a few minutes to my need.Only a question, that is all, intruth, honourable sirs, in truth."

"First, your name, insolentpup, and your place of birth or atleast whelping." jeered the tallestman.

The young man laughed at thisquip. "Good, sir, good. A sweet jabmore delicately done the droner thebee. My name, my title, my image, mydestiny can be all said in the samethree words: ‘Beggar's young son.’That is who, what, why I am. As towhere, I come from a place havingnot its own horizons; yet manyhorizons. The sun alwaysshimmering at its ripple of borderand to complete the puzzle is toanswer: when. Well, I do not know

24

when but do know I am not ageless.Therefore the when of then liesbetween beginning and end; for myshadow, at least, proves myexistence right now.

"Pompous ass," sputtered thetaller man of the two.

"No, sir. Forgive me," theyoung man smiled, "With my beatingsabout the winds of time, my truename has been blown out your ears. Iam much less useful than a beastborn to do the will of men for I amthe Beggar's young son only."

The tall man stood with arather angry yet puzzled expression,not sure if he had been insulted ornot. While he dug through thisdilemma, his shorter more glibfriend took up the mark.

"And who is this Beggar thatgave back to the world a less fairexchange for the coins that rattledhis cup?"

A slight sadness came into hisvoice as the young man answered, "Hewas a beggar who sought to fulfillneed."

The man chuckled, "Oh, you areindeed wise behind your ears, or isit beyond your years? For whatbeggar does not wish to fulfill hisown need? Your description has notyet narrowed our choice of thecountless bags of rags that flop onstreet corners in every town.”

25

The young man replied, " Youmisunderstood sir if I can assumethe capacity to do otherwise. As Inow dumb I can by your sudden angrylook. Forgive, I mean no insult.Sadness can turn a heart a sensitiverebuke. The fault is mine. What Ishould have said was, He was abeggar who sought to fulfill others’needs."

"Oh, I see," replied the man,rubbing his chin in a mock ofgravity. "And how exactly is thismiracle performed? Empty pocketsbring forth coinage to feed thepoor, pay the taxes, amuse the rich?I do not mock you, young man yet Iam something of a teacher in thescience of mathematics, and yetnever heard of a formula wherenothing added to something increasedsomething."

"And the wind is nothing.Cannot be gathered or sowed. Leashedor herded. Counted or held. Yet isknown to be as fierce as a mad bulland topple buildings. This wewould call something. Have I notadded nothing upon nothing tillsomething is created?" explained theyoung man.”

"But the wind is not a truephysical presence. You speak in therealm of the spiritual oblique.Anything can be deemed true there asit cannot be proven false. You

26

cannot make the same point in thisworld." said the man.

"What if you took all thecoinage of copper in thisMarketplace and added its sum? Thenmelted it down. Had the glob weighedto its metal value. Would the sumsbe equal? I think not." answered theyoung man.

The short man answered "Igrant this is true but you have notstayed in the world of mathematics,you have not added or taken away.This is not reason but as ablacksmith in the act oftransformation."

"You would grant that in thisworld a transformation can add ortake away from the value andtherefore the sum of something?"

asked the young man."Yes, it is a simple enough

thing. A pile of blocks verses abuilding is an immense change invalue." the man agreed.

"Yes, but back to the coinsand copper. Why was the value sodifferent after the transformation?"asked the young man.

"I would say, of course, thatsociety deems a certain worth toeach coin in its market bartervalue. Here copper itself cannotcounterfeit this, as all could justgo to the hills and extract theirwealth. Payment is instead due in

27

the exact configuration of thecoin.” the man replied.

"So society deems the coinageof much higher value than the lumpof copper. Can the individual dothe reverse?" asked the young man.

"He can do as he likes but hewould be mad."

The young beggar asked "Whatif the lump of copper was reshaped,moulded, carved into the exactlikeness of his deceased wife, whomhe adored for thirty years? Would itnot have the greatest value now andwould you still paint him insane?"

"For him alone it would havethe greatest value and few wouldcall him mad. But are you not againstepping into the world ofspirituality; of love?"

Young man: " Except in itsresults, few would argue adifference between love of money andlove of a person. Has not the mansimply exchanged Society's valuesfor his own?"

The man: "Granted. He has doneso.”

Young man: "Is he wrong orunlawful or immoral to do so?"

The man: "If it is his ownmoney, he may do with it as hepleases. In his own home, he maymaintain a value as he sees fitassuming it is unharmful to those in

28

the same dwelling."Young man: "These values; may

a man have different than societywithin society or only within hishome?"

The man: "By the normalnatural decree of civilization,

a man must subjugate hisvalues if they contrast with hissociety's if he wishes to remain amember of Society, except in his ownhousehold. "

Young man: "Thereby assumingas a general principal all men areunequal , yet Society is equal, orat least uniform, then most menexchange cloaks of values as theypass in and out of the threshold oftheir homes. That if society'svalues be deemed a fence, then bynature's randomness half the menwill have values strong on one sideand half the men on the other. Wecan say a fence as seems Societytakes upon herself the role ofjudicial to keep half the men fromthe throats of the other half.

From our examples of thecoinage, the copper, the statue,there exists men who love money intheir homes and men who love love.Both to the obsession of denyinganything slip out of their grasp.And this can be allowed in theirhomes. But society demands a lesservalue from both; demands a smaller

29

love of money and some token of lovefrom the coin hoarder ; demands asmaller love of love and some tokenof money from the statue hoarder.And where, kind sirs, is thisexchange to be done? What hassociety placed at the gate whichgives breaks of communion in thefence? Who guards there? The palacearmy? Police? The Law? No. None ofthese. Charity. In its purer,open path, the Beggars. Those whohave nothing. None of love or money.These are the channels, funnels opento the flow.

The rich man comes uneasy inhis lesser clutch of Civilized garb,not used to anything but a clearpierce of want and avarice. ButSociety demands less. And behold!Before him, the Beggar wants! A coinjiggles and all needs are met. Therich man has his proof. Society'sfence intact, unrubbed. The Beggar,his token of love.

The man of love comes; hiscloth rent, torn in the convulsesof despair. Like a hand in a gravesite, he clutches coinage he hasreaped, going homeward to hismelting pot. Society, however,commands less than this totality ofgrief.A glance at some disgust of unloved,brown coloured sheen of povertydefiled at the gate; a rag tent of

30

some near-human beast ;its cupempty; its eyes unfilled.

The man almost weeps incomprehending that he, at least, has something to love and will not beas this discarded wretch before him.With that, he flings a coin as hepasses by. A token given to the costthis beggar must stay behind andpay.

So you see, kind Sirs, thoughthis beggar has no effect on thevalue of each man within his home,he has much effect when each manjourneys into Society. As each mandecreases his own values through thebeggar towards society's values,then his value is transformed to agreater sum in Society's countinghouse.

Though only a coin issubtracted, nothing greatlyincreasesto something."

" Aw! What a waste! A fullcoin of attention given to a half acup of wit!" squawked the tall man."Time wasted while some squatter'swhelp proves people think it's niceif the rich give to the poor.Philosophy for wine stools! That'swhat I call it. Out of the way,street rat, we've had enough of yourcrumbs!"

The short man rebuked him."Wait. His argument was well done

31

and speaks little of money. It is adebate of heart and mind; andperhaps, to balance, a soul. I woulddwell on all this later.

Now, I feel it would be fairbargain to hear the question hefirst mentioned. So, Beggar's youngman, speak your query but I cautionagainst impudence." He noddedtowards his rather red faced friend.

Young man: "I beg, sirs, notto keep you much longer in thisglare of a spot, and ask thisquestion not in mock, or to beboorish, or unduly of pry but as awanderer unfamiliar to ways such asI have seen this day. I am nophilosopher or teacher. How can I bethus? A broken lamb outcast from thesheep, who would hear my bleats? Butin my daily imprison beyond thefence and into the hills, I watch.Even to long or pine, tis true attimes, to join those forgiven andsanctified amongst all these goodshepherds.

All day, I store the feed ofmy eyes, that I may curl behind somedamp stone and cud upon thememories; memories of the ways anddoings of my brethren below. Muchis the difference between the eyeof the beholder and the eye of thebelonger, I have found. The eye ofthe belonger seems to hunger at ‘Howlong?’ Whereas the beholder gazes

32

and wonders ‘Why for so long.’ So Ibeg mercy for this ignorant: parthis wool and speak to his eyes tolower this fever of the burning‘Why for so long?’

The tall man interjected,"Damn it, we might if you'd

ask the question! God in dust! Hemust have a deal with a god to buildminutes in the hereafter by wordsdown here!”

“I shall, Sir, I shall”laughed the young man. “My quest isthis: If a man has more value inwhat he takes home than what he hasin the street, and you Sirs (as itappeared by your growlingcomplexions when you left thestalls) have little value in theVirtues tucked under your arms, willthey become transformed to immensevalue in your homes? or, pardon anaddition relevant to the first, isit, the coinage exchanged?; in thatyou must g1ve a 11ttle coin to thosecast beggars of copper or goldbecause you have immense coinage ofvalue at home?”

“THIS IS TOO MUCH!” roared thetall man as he grabbed the young manby his collar. “Call a palace guard!To the Law's ears with him. Let himjerk his tongue to the beat of awhip! Then out of the city with therag. Let him remember that here wetolerate an open cup to the passerby

33

but tolerate no insolent tripping ofthe pious and noble bearing.

The young man made no squirmor interfered no rebuttal to thisshaking and ranting. His eyesmerely contained, not impishamusement, but rather an earnestwait. He kept them fixed upon theshort man's face, knowing that ifany could leap the bounds oftradition, this old fox knew a way.

It was not so much that theyoung man wanted to know; he daredto know. Most men feared the burdenof answers and rightly so. All wereborn to the fertile ground ofdoubts; of questions. A few seedssown, sprout, die untended. Someanswers, however, nourished and fed,grow till they would appear as ifsplit through a man's skull. Stretchhigher and higher. A greatburdensome tree of knowledge rootedon a man's head; it’s very bulk andmight so grand it would bend hisneck downward till a man could seenothing of his fellow man, hisworld, only himself.

This was answers; this wasknowledge; a ponderous growth. Onlya constant trimming, weeding,clipping, burning at knowledge wouldkeep all a delicate wreath. Tocultivate all through a pure heartand remove the dead, the false, theduplicate.

34

This was wisdom. With Doubtthe constant trimmer. Doubt ofSomething, or of the All, or ofConclusion, or of One’s Reflex ofEgo . Doubt, not as the Mocker, butrather as the better cousin, theProber.

Few men knew how to controlknowledge and nurture wisdom. Somost kept a barren plot. Safer.

Something in this youngbeggar’s eyes showed a smallflourish of wisdom.

The short man saw this. A goodman, though caged in a society ofcompromise, he could not deny itsfaint rustle; could not deny hisanswer wings and go lighten uponthis beckon of branch.

He spoke: “Wait a moment,friend. Though, by chance or nochance, he is discourteous, he isnot necessarily unlawful. For theLaw allows discussion of gods insidethe Market Square, though I admitrarely is it accomplished with thedin and den of God’s thieves raspingfrom their perch. I admit mannersand custom shun it but shunning isnot the same as forbidding. That isfor the arm of the Law. Manners andcustom can rule by expression only;their arms are limp. So I suggestyou drop yours away for ‘tis onlyyou who breach the law."

The tall man did so but

35

grumbled, "Manners and custom canlead, however, to a change in theLaw. Hopefully tomorrow the Law willflex her hand and gesture the MarketSquare unlawful for discussion ofgods as well. Then this imp willdance, should he folly his mouthagain."

Short man: "Good point, myexcellent friend. You have describedthe Beauty in the Law. She is thePerfect Woman. Both handmaiden andwanton at the same time. Virtueunbendable and open-limbedCompromise. What no man can touchcan easily be bought and sold.

For you are too right, myfriend. Tomorrow, she may skirt adifferent door. But beware, she maylust beggars! Ruling no gods in theSquare at all or perhaps no tallmen. Then the whip curls the otherway! So than there is a mightyvirtue of New Law and Her Orders. Torule beggars over gods.

Yet the Merchants roar ‘Whatof us, what of sales, what ofcoinage, oh Bitch?’

So those who make coinage fromrule and those who rule coinagegather with the Law. Her favourseasily bought in negotiationsclinking loudly with good will butmuffled behind great doors. Oh! Thenbehold! Miracle of New Wind, theLaw is swayed, the Square given back

36

to the gods, beggars scorned and Shelies a richer bed. Her true dangeris her wavering, shimmer-likeBeauty. She is a Moon Goddessconstantly changing, waxing, waning;yet everywhere there are dim andlost men who yearn her cold touch ofguidance when darkness closes overtheir hearts."

Tall man: "I gather the driftof your reason, yet wonder it’s needfor such length. If I did not knowyou to be a better man, I’d vouchyou had been hanging with beggarstoo long. Which is my point , Answerthe upstarts' stumble. I'll wait. Iam curious about the result, andthen let us be gone, my friend. Ihave a desire to wash beggarly dustfrom my hands as soon as possible."

Short man: "I shall do thisnow. Give answer to the whys of thegods and where's the values. Towhich sides and when the coin flipsin a trembling man's hand.

For you see, young man, thatthe gods are nothing in all this.Men make gods merely to and fro asthe whims and aspirations of theirhopes or deviations. Thus a personalgod is never what a man is butrather what he wishes to be. But allcreated gods have a commonalitysince that is really the purpose oftheir creation. Immortality. All men

37

crave immortality... through soul. No god creates a man’s soul.

Men create their own soul. Mancreates soul out of dread.

Men feel to have a soul.For this discussion of gods it isenough just to say that men feel aplace beyond the physical. Asensation ,if you will, like asceptre following them on a darknight. Not necessary an evil or agood feeling but rather, at least,the possibilities of ‘more than’.That is to say men have a strangesensation and call that sensation:soul.

The Tall man exclaimed:” Whatsense of senselessness is this!?”

The short man answered “ Thesense of soul is that not foundedalso in senselessness? We have aword here...sense and also the otherword, sense. One is of a man’sability to interpret ‘feelings’;feelings which may be vague butnonetheless present in such a manneras to itch for attention. The othersense is for the way the logic orawareness of a man progresses fromfact to proof; from means to end;from cause to effect. So a man canfeel sense and he, also, must makesense of that sense. A man feels asoul, he must find cause.”

The young beggar asked “A manfeels something, but what is this

38

something? why call this something,soul?”

The tall man “Yes, I think wegive hats to dogs here. Why do weassume the rabble know of souls andgods more than they know of gas andbad wine?”

The short man answered both “There is a knowledge man has whichis not just the knowledge of deathbut there is a constant vagueawareness, daily, even minute byminute, of his own ending. Theconscious of a man is‘unfortunately’ elevated above mereanimal by a self-awareness of timeand death. It is this sensation thatmen call soul. A soul borne out of afalsehood for immortality, againstDeath, against Dread of his owndeath. His mind rebels against this.Against the wishes of his own body.For the body wishes Death.”

The tall man “ What!? Thoughthe body cannot prevent its end Igive you true but it always movesaway from that end. Why move awayfrom the fire, why fear the highcliff, why carry a sword into thewilderness? Are those not the tellsof a body seeking always life notDeath?”

The short man answered “Whichknows more fear...the body or themind? Or, rather, should one

39

ask..which creates more fear, thebody or the mind? Especially if oneasks which creates more fear initself, the body or the mind?”

The beggar’s son “ I supposeone must define fear first. Sincethe body will flinch fast at themoment’s danger but the dread of themind, that is, in the mind, is sadlya thing almost forever known.”

“Indeed” replied the short man“ fear is known...bold in face likea drunkard’s rage, but dread...hereis the shadow born behind the candleof dim or darker reasoning.”

The tall man “We are far herefrom our soul source, however, myfriend. I fear you will makes usfollow a beggar’s weave through thenarrower alleys of your mind.”

The short man smiled andnodded “What I mean to say is thatthe source of soul in a man is thesense of his own death and thatintimate dread which many do notacknowledge.

Soul is man’s awakenedconsciousness of the death of thatvery same consciousness. And thatmind, that soul isdisturbed. Disturbed for tworeasons.”

The short man continued:“ A man sees death amongst men andis puzzled. Death of each livingbeing gives life to other living

40

beings, ‘cept man’s, or so at least,it would appear to men. Why does a man die? Why shoulda man die?

Or more to the heart of thematter, each man asks ‘ Why should Idie? Why must I die?’ For perhaps itis less tragic that other mendie...or at least...less puzzling...

Men see the flow of life intodeath; yet, each living being,wether a desert gazelle running inweaves before the doggish pack or aCyprus bending its back to themuscle strains of a hurricane,desires to continue living.

Yet in each living thing isknown the end of its days. Indeed,not just known, but sought.

Tall man: “I trust, oldfriend, that here you will not sinkus into the obscure ruts of wheelingstars and moon shadow fingerspointing a foretell of fortune? Asif man is birthed with his Book ofFutures in his hand for anypretender to write!”

Short man (with a laugh): “No, sir, I need no ball or goat gutsto crystallize this knowledge; norsmear our intelligence either. A mandies because his body so wills to doso.

Tall man “What!? Did not thoujust say that all things desire, andI would add, greatly struggle for,

41

to escape Death?”Short man: “ Life desires to

escape calamity, escape pursuit,escape starvation, escape abuse. Infact, Death by Calamity is but Deathby another power other than Body,hence is in a sense Death by theUncontrollable. The Body desires theLiving in order to Die by decay, byits own Control, its own power.Survival is not an instinct againstDeath but is more a reflex againstPain, Control, Powerlessness. TheBody follows these escapes, yes, butthe Body also decays. That Calamityprevents a death before decay doesnot mean that the original Death byDecay was not planned, not desired.“

Tall man: “ How so planned?Disease and old age comeunannounced, unexpected...”

The short man interrupted “Notso. Disease may be unexpected to theBody but what you call the decay ofold age never was. For it is not oldage which overtakes, entwines, andthen suffocates the Body like asnake loving a rodent. It is ratherthat the Body makes possible, thatis, literally ...causes, Old Age. Ina sense what we call ‘decay’ is tothe Body, victory! The medals, thelaurels of that victory upon Time.Twin victories! For it, the Body,has become victorious over all

42

calamities that have assailed it tobring upon itself any UnnaturalDeaths. With this Life it can nowembrace the Will of its BodilyDestiny. That destiny being its ownwilling demise. You see, Old Age isnot a decay but is a place ofstature where the Body achieves itsown Will.”

Tall man ”What do you mean’its own will?’ I still find itpreposterous that this thing we callBody flees all death but the Deathof Old Age.”

Short man “ Old Age is whatthe Body achieved by exercising itsown Will of survival against OutsideCalamity. And against Time. TillBody decides its Time. Just as theBody has the eyes, ears, smell tosense calamity and the legs,muscles, fists to flee and fightcalamity, so, too, the Body has thepowers and means to avoid Decay, butin the End, or at the End, of itsTime; it declines to do so.”

Tall man: ”Declines, friend?Declines? Such a word infers that aman’s body has the power to declineDeath by even decay forever.”

Short man: “ So true, friend.Many parts of a man can I takeaway; arms, legs, eyes, ears andwill not the man live on?”

The tall man rebutted “ Ah,many things can I also wound and the

43

body of a man will not live on aswell!”

Short man (laughs):” That istrue. We have said that not allCalamity is surmountable. My point,however, is that the Body can heal,does heal...not only heals but canregenerate, can regrow. look at theskin. I can tear it, cut it, burn itaway and in Time, it becomes anew,reborn.”

The tall man threw up his arms“ Lets grant you then a stretchedpoint so as to avoid more decay inmy ears. But what use is thisrecovery to our question of soul?”

Short man: “ In healing, inrecovery, the Body shows it has themeans to forestall or even preventDeath in injury or calamity ordisease.. If skin and flesh can heala great wound, why cannot heart orliver be healed of a great age? Itis because the Body choses not to.It has the mechanisms but deniesonto itself the means. The Bodycould ‘will’ to immortality but,instead, ‘wills’ itself to Death.”

Tall man: “Death comes byCalamity or Choice, what of it?Dead’s dead.

Short man: “The inner mind ofman is conscious of Death in a waybeyond the animal instinct. Ananimal sees a body lifeless, sniffsit, moves on; the moment as

44

remarkable as scenting dung ordeclining unappealing food.

A man sees Death, esp death ofanother human and realizes, he toomust die.

Or must he?The Body seeks to die, chooses

to die, wills to die... but doesman’s inner mind?

Does the consciousness of manseek to die, choose to die, will todie?

If not so, than would not theMind see the Body as a traitor?

Now who asks this questioneven but the mind of consciousnessnot seeking Death.

If the dog is running towardsthe boiling kettle, can we be a fleaand leap to a better destiny?

The mind of man is as a riderupon a camel. He sees his destiny,or rather cannot see the end of hisdestiny..or , at least, cannot seehis destiny as solely the place ofdesert where his camel decides tocollapse.

For all men ride toward agolden city in their mind. That cityis not necessarily a heaven or ahell but, rather, that city ‘is’.‘Is’ no end, of no ending. That isall that is important. No ending .Wether an eternity of pain orpleasure or the repeats of livingfutilities, it does not matter. No

45

ending means..no end..ofconsciousness. That destiny. Theimage and illusion of immortality.That is what the mind wants fromsoul. From the creating, thepainting of a soul.

Immortality of gods isnothing. It is immortality of a manthat a man wants. Immortality as theperpetuality of a man’sconsciousness. Do not take thismeaning, this wish for thegrandiose, for the golden, godlygiant’s stature of a head in starsand feet bathing in an ocean ofsoothing oils.....a man’sconsciousness will settle for themoon’s dunghill if he can but blinkhis eyes eternally just above it.

Tall man:” What!?! How did weend up in this celestial heap...hadwe not begun..been in..theMarketplace of the Gods?”

Short man:” Old friend, wehave followed soul into this place.Or to know first the meaning ofsoul. Soul is the man-consciouspleading, fighting, denying Death.And the ally of Death, Body. Theinner mind of a man sees Bodydeliberately cast down its sword ofregeneration and die upon the finalembrace of a Willing Death. Utterlyalone, the conscious mind creates asoul, creates a sensation of soul asan answer to this Dread, this Ending

46

of itself.The young Beggar:” Why? Did we

answer ‘why’? Why the Body dies?Embraces death?”

Short man:” Perhaps we cannot.Perhaps, though, the Body as apurely natural thing, still followsthe natural paths of feeding theCycle.

Or perhaps, as do all otherNatural living things, the Bodystill follows Death to make way forthe new Living...the NewEmerging...our New Born of our race,our species.

That the Old give food ontowhat would have hunted the Young.

Calamity requires new people.Old age requires that the Body exitthe Living place; the Living space,leaving room for new people. Men dieof old age because they don’t die ofcalamity.

Men, Social Man, because ofagriculture, medicine, governmentand cities, has built an unnaturalplace where it seems that NaturalCalamity is forestalled. The‘hunted’ no longer are ‘hunted’.

So except for accident anddisease, nothing would kill men butthat they must for the most part,kill themselves.

The Body has lived in a Timewhen a small tribe hunting andforaging could not afford more

47

mouths than the Valley could feed.Though Calamity fed well, there wasstill a need for the Body to findbalance between the adulthood ofprotecting the young and the finalending of old Body to ensure enoughfood stayed in young mouths to grow.

Tall man:” Allowing for sometruth in this Past, why continuethen? Why, with food for all, doesthe Body still, as you argue, chooseto die?”

Short man:” Perhaps old waysdie off slowly...or perhaps the Bodyis not so willing to ally with thisconscious mind of man which seeksimmortality at all costs.”

Tall man: “ What costs couldthere be to living forever? What isworse than Death itself?”

Short man” Aw, religion,religion, I ask you, what is moretedious than the heavens but theways to it! Why does the Body stilldie if indeed the City would feedall?

A City...a Society...aSpecies...thus Men, what purposethen but to become a collective godfor does not then the collectivemake a collective soul? Not a soulof each man but rather a soul of allmen!?

Thus our feeding City raisesup a Collective God as it creates aCollective Soul. The purpose of soul

48

is immortality. Then by thisremarkable ‘twist’ the Species willnot die out. Hence it is immortal;going on and on till the End ofTime.

The Species does not separatewether each man is immortal ornot...only that itself...men... isimmortal or not.

We ask would this be the samefor man and men? Can the soul of menbe the summation of the soul of eachman? And to ask as well, will eachman be satisfied that though eachconscious is not immortal...agreater summation of each and everyman conscious is immortal.

But did we not say that soulwas dread of mortality...moreexactly...dread of Death of allconsciousness. If City as Species isthe summation of soul then it is thesummation of all dread.

So that each man creates asoul to dread his death ofconsciousness, yet can that manwillingly give that soul to a largersoul which will indeed in the sameway swallow his own immortality asassuredly as his own death will?”

Tall man: ”Damn,this...indeed...a dreadfuldiscussion.”

The short man laughed whilethe Beggar interjected “ Let no oneof man die then, both the Species

49

and each man has immortality.”The short man replied “ If

then none died, how many Citieswould we need to ensure the Speciesimmortality.

None.How many men?One.The only difficulty being to

now choose the one man living whowill live on forever, representingthe Species.

Could all men weave throughsuch jealousy to choose the One? Nowonder men find it so easy to killeach other. Such intensecompetitions.

If a Collective soul, the Citysoul is chosen, then each separateman’s soul is not.

If the One man’s soul ischosen than the City is not, nor aremen’s.

A large gamble for theSpecies.Beggar’s Son: “ Why limit from aCity down to just One?”The Short Man: “ Because,ultimately, we must limit thatnumber to a finite amount. And somesouls must be outside that finiteand must therefore cease to exist.Who will choose their souls, theirdread...they themselves or theimmortality of what’s left? Perhapshere is the why and the where of the

50

gods, the half-mortals and themortals in endless combat!

But we can say that ,wetherthe Species or the City Collective,at least all are chosen or all arenot chosen but dissolve into.

The way of the One is not thatway. The way of many men or a fewmen or One man is exclusion.

For Species or City better allthan the many. Better the All becomeone because the One excludes all.

The Body remains dying becauseimagine a One where the parts of themany could forever “feed” theimmortality of the One. The manyhave a part in this immortality butnot their consciousness, which wasthe original purpose of soul.

The Beggar asked “ Is this notthen the conflict of religion versusspirituality? That all must beconsumed into one god? With noindividualities?”

The Short man answered “Why isthis abhorrent? Is it mere reflexagainst change? I daresay a solitaryhunter of empty desert horizons of athousand years ago would find ourCity an absolute nightmare. Anightmare of dilution of Spirit. Yetwe have grown into it.

Of this One, is this theultimate in cruelty, brutality...ormerely... assimilation? Thousands,

51

millions swallowed up for the One,or even if you prefer, the Few.

The Tall Man: “ Is that anydifferent than war...or great wealthamongst a sea of famine?”

Short Man: “Perhaps not. Wewill allow all things amongst men tobe unequal except this thing ofimmortality. There are indeed manykinds of dogs, weak and strong; thedog makes its pack with all otherdogs. The dog will willingly giveitself in defence of the pack...evengive itself to feed the pack. Buteven the dog knows...or does notknow and thus does not dread, thatit will die and all will die. onlythe Species will survive. Noindividual dog. The dog does notreally know this...only the Species,the sum of dogs knows this.

Men don’t know this little orat least, think they know more. Theyknow dread. Perhaps we as men willgive all to men but not to aman...for if the man has calamity ordisease, have we not all lost andare lost, onto the Species in thegamble.

I say again, too, that wewould be willingly unequal as men toall things but immortality. Perhapsthat is why men “sent” to battle donot fight as well as men led tobattle.

There is a changing pattern in

52

this ‘way of things’. The windshifting. Just as a decay seemsgone when the air drifts toelsewhere then our noses. That menhave begun to believe that their‘salvation’, their ‘soul’ can befound in the safety of numbers ofsouls, in the collective cooing andcawing of gathered City souls. It isa ‘herding’ response like corneredgazelles. They turn their betterlegs to bigger eyes before thewolves. It is not, however, thewolves outward they should fear butthose newly sharpened teeth in theherd. Those few which inch the herdinto a revolving banquet beforeDeath’s teeth. Revolving withouttheir perception around the‘nudging’ Few. The Few, who buy Timewith nibbling teeth at theirfellow’s haunches, buying onlyTime...to buy Immortality.

Such a word...immortality...solike immoral...but at crosspurposes...”

The tall man “ What do youmean? If these men believe inimmortality, why not embrace theDeath sooner than later?”

The short man ”Remember thereis not necessarily much truth inBelief. There is illusion, lie,hope, dread. There are many darkcorners and dirty windows inworship. The man who has a soul has

53

a dread of death as well. For mostmen, courage is a walk betweenbelief and dread. There are a Few,however, who put their gamble downon many more things than justbelief. They build ‘heavens’ on bothsides of Death, just in case.

Just in case there is a godand you will see him as easily as hesees you ... above the city of menas above the souls of other men.

Understand that it is a muchdifferent thing to await god than toawait death. Those Few say ‘Let theothers keep death busy while weconjure up our better salvations.’

The tall man “Are you sayingall leaders are cowards and run fromdeath?”

The short man “No. I am sayingthat those ‘who’ wish forimmortality a little stronger, wishfor death a little less. One callstheir souls ‘stronger’; their dread,then, not as weak. The ‘Many’ seethese ‘Few’ as enlightened, gifted,purposeful, guided, superior becausethe soul in them...the dread...thestature of men...is felt to bestronger.

We have defined the greaterdread as soul-sense, as consciously-elevated men. What is this ‘higher’conscious? What is this superiorityof place, of mind as seen by theMany (told to by the Few) as The

54

Rightful Inequality of Elevations.You see, my Beggar boy, a man

alone has dread but he has noinequality of dread. Suddenly, orgradually, men have become betterknown by their dread, than theirliving without dread.

Souls are measured but neverweighed. There is really nothing tothem. Then, really, what is it all?

Do you see it? The trick? Menbecome more or less equal by theirbeing more or less men. Dread, notdeath, has dragged all to theCity...or created City...a gatheringplace for the flock...for thecomparison of souls. There is no Manhere. A man cannot be easily madeinto an insect. First he mustbecome...Men.

Now men do not have a goodhistory of maintaining equality, oreven inequality based on actualquality.

A man alone is like a dog, amonkey, a tiger. He is a ‘doer’, anact of doing moment by moment.

Men are ‘systems’. Systemsdevised by men to contain men, tocontrol men. Control them not asindividual man after man but as manyof the same men. These systems arealways flawed because they areinvented by a conscious mind orminds fleeing Dread. Dread of itselflosing its immortal mind. Understand

55

the System does not develop that allminds become immortal but ratherthat some minds, a few minds,perhaps even only one mind...becomeimmortal.

One above a Few. A Few abovea Many. Many devouring All. The‘System’ is always parasitical inits purpose but seeminglypredatorial in its design.”

The Tall man: “What differencedoes it make? Is not a parasite, apredator?”

The Short Man: “As a predatora system appears as a natural thingto men. The strong consuming theweak. Just as they remember it whenmen was more man than Men...that isin the pre-City days. When man wasnot safe except with his own kind.

Now in the City-days Man issafe from all but himself. TheStrong in a City are notpredators...lone dogs, tigers orwolves seeking a mere meal, anotherday of sustenance. The very Strongof a City are Parasites. They seek aLifetime. Indeed, even more than aLifetime.

The very best of parasites arenot easily seen, are not easilyknown. They are inside Men,disguised as Men, and worse,disguised as any other man’s chanceof Immortality; disguised as anotherman,s god even.

56

These Great Parasites aredisguised as the Equality ofInequality. We are told the City isa jungle. It is not. It is aBattlefield.

It is a battle between Speciesand Men. Species is a flow. A Cityis not. It is a dam. Different‘things’ populate a river from asea. Different ‘things’ rise to thetop.

Naturally, men in smallnumbers, may not come to equalitybut they at least come to aninequality of ability. The spearthrower respects the fire maker whorespects the game tracker. Abilitieswhich ensure the survival of a manensure the survival of Species. AsMen of Man. As a hunter-gatherer-predator.

A City is not this. Simply puta City is a man with many, many,many legs. A city is an insect, agreat seething coil upon coils of asingular centipede. Man has becomewasp, bee, ant, termite...man hasbecome a nest of men. Destroyer,Builder, Devourer, Enveloper.

This is a perversion of man.This men. This long thing where oneman is as another man as isanother...yet...there are amongstthese men, some who are more menthan men. By that I mean , the Fewwho aspire to be the One. Those who

57

believe they are the summation ofthe Parts of the Great Citypede, theGreat Citysite.

You see, young Beggar’s Son,that in time each man of this longchain of men does not know that hissight is not his own. It is thesight of the one as the Few. Butthat they see out of these eyes thenthey see that they are equal intheir place. They are perverted tobelieve that they could be emperoror king or of immense wealth or fedbecause some are so. They are toldthat this is because of abilities.They are taught to believe thatthose who feed on those who cannotfeed do so by the Law of the Jungle.This is a Great Lie. Men feeding onmen is not a Law of the Species...itis a Law of Men. It was created toallow the parts of the Many tosustain the Few.

It is a system of very longlies...and when one foot moves, allthe feet move. Any ‘system’ is notthe sum of the parts of the All asfor Species. Any men system is thesum of the parts of the Many...tofeed the Few.

This strangely enough, has notcome from the Species, not from theBody but from the conscious mind.

It is men’s conscious mindwhich has created City. Not to fleeinto safety from Natural

58

Death...but, rather to fall into theJaws of Unnatural Death. Man-madeDeath. Death of the parts to feedthe Few; or ,the One.

This Mind began, firstly tobelieve in immortality as a god, asa soul then, as some chosenreligion, as great wealth, than alittle wealth, as social status, asart, as brutality, violence andcontrol over others....on and on thelist goes lower and lower...lesserand lesser...why?

Anything which will bringourselves outside the ‘pool’ of theMany to join the Few, to be seenapart. This gives the conscious mindthe illusion of some ‘pre-selection’to eternity and thus have our chanceat immortality.

Socially, men always fail toequalize, because they are, indeed,unequal. Not in ability, though thatis true. Men have always beenunequal in their abilities but theSpecies used that inequality tocreate diversity.

Diversity enables success as aSpecies but it is the opposite of aCitypede. Of a conscious mind asOne.

The problem is in the power ofQuality versus the power ofQuantity. If, in a small tribe, ourbest spear-thrower owns a thousandspears and the rest own none, it

59

does the Species no good. For thetribe will perish if attacked bywild animals or starve because oneman cannot be a tribe to its fullabilities. It would be even worse ifthe flame maker owned the thousandspears.

In the City, however, Quantityis what is used to control, tocreate systems. For where there aremany many men, Quantity gives theillusion of plenty. A lesser man isonly inches away from a ‘full’ manin the sense of grasping Quantity.What the lesser man does not know isthat ‘those inches’ are in realitymany many men long, the lesser manis fooled by the coil of theCentipede in the City. His place isvery far from the Quantity, manyfeet would have to ‘shuffle’ forthat reality to happen. What isimportant here to the ‘system’ ofimmortality of a Few is that alllesser men believe they are lesseronly by chance. Thus Hope remains.That is all you need to give ahungry man as you, yourself, devourhis parts for your own salvation.Hope. While you do that, you do notfeel yourself being devoured. Only avery very Few can see in the City.The rest of us have given them oureyes.

Eyes...the Species would usethose eyes for the ALL to

60

survive...man by man...The GreatInsect of the City does not needmany eyes to find its way toimmortality. For It believes itthinks its way to immortality. It isConscious only of that.

Beggar’s son “A question. Youmentioned a Few. You mentioned aOne. What are these things?”

The short man “These aremen...the greatest of men...if sucha thing can have a greatness. The‘One’ is both the summation of theparts of the ‘All’ and theaspirations of each of men to becomeimmortal...especially if thatimmortality will come only to onemen (I would not call such amonster...a man.). The Few areclosest to this , they are the eyesand ears and senses of the Citypedewhich all the combined Dread of men,society, City, tyrannic power,politics, wealth, cruelty andreligion believe could becomeimmortal...could make men immortal.All these things have over allhistory created a soul, a god , ifyou will.

That god answers to no one. Ina way , born out of the combinedconscious will of men, it has becomethe Anti-Species. It seeks todestroy all that was man beforeDread; before Man realized he candie and, thus, slowly began to cease

61

to live.That god as ‘One’ will easily

destroy Man, men, souls, nature,everything...even life itself...inorder, that it will realize Self-immortality.

That is why I call it ...TheOne. It has moved men from illusionto delusion. In each man seeking away out of dread, we have created athing far more dreadful to each man.Not only do we still loseimmortality, we have also lost theLife which went before it.

Understand that this ‘One”,these ‘Few’ , this collective, thisCity is as a million souls in aflood all huddling, jamming,killing, fighting, dying togetherover an imaginary tiny boat. It issad to wonder how many would haveswam away and lived without it.

The tall man “I, too, wonderif we may have lived without allthis? So a City is filled with menwho think they can think past Death.Who make up a tale of gods and soulsand what not. Who call their Bodiestraitors. Who...”

Here the Beggar interrupted “Excuse me , my noble friends, butyou have reminded me of what wassaid earlier. That the Dread ofDeath comes from two things. Theone, then, is the actual death ofBody. What is the other?”

62

To this query, the short mananswered (while the tall mangroaned) “The nature of Time.

There is a mystery in time forman. The past outside his past, thepast of his of his own memory. Forolder men tell him of their pastbefore even his beginning. So theman cannot deny a past before hisown past. The past has ‘been’. Andthough a man’s mind can re-createthe past, it will be mirrors,imperfect mirrors of what he hasbeen told of the Past. Told by otherimperfect mirrors.

The Past does exist, however.For a man does not wish for‘everything’ around him to ‘pop-up’into existence...moment...bymoment...by moment.

If it is here than it was. Howmuch changed from what was to whatis, who can truly say. We say themountains are eternal but outsidethe City’s walls lies the dust ofits breath. And I have heard ofmountains exploding into the air andswallowing leagues and leagues withthe fire and ash of its corpse.

Also as the moment to momentprogresses we see ‘is’ slowly changeand thus either life is changing orexperience of life is changing, ieif I look in a mirror 10 yearsapart, who is older, my face... oronly my eyes. If my face, than here

63

is proof that the Body is winningand losing the battle with Time andCalamity. If only my eyes are olderin their view, than the Past doesn’texist, nor Time exists, only my Mindexists and is it crumbling?

So that a Past was, it is now.But who knows what it was. A manlooking through a glass of waterinto an imperfect mirror describesthe world behind him; a past vaguein recollection.

What does it matter?Its importance lies in that which‘was’ becomes ‘is’.

‘Is’ then is made from what‘was’. ‘Is’ becomes proof of ‘was’.

The mind cares less, or inTime, cares not if the Body dies; itonly cares if the Mind dies. Thoughit is resigned to such a Body’sdefeat, it feels betrayed. Like dualwarriors, one immortal, or at leastbelieving so, but the other mortaland the victory dependent on both.No matter the highest valour of themortal, his death in battle willseem a failure to the illusions ofendless glory.

Remember, as in our tale ofBody, once again a rider and a horseenter the race.

The rider has an expectationto the Finish; to the End...the Bodyonly races...it does not race to winor to finish at some End...it races

64

to be only...ALIVE.Remembering only snatches of

what hurdles over and over aroundhim; the smells of flesh; the blinksof flying mud; of noise and dangerand failure and triumph...allmeaningless to the Mind which onlywants to Finish at the End. Not itsend but Time’s End.

For if Time exists beyond TheMind’s existence than The Mind doesnot achieve its immortality. It hasbeen robbed.

Perhaps it is the fault of therider expecting the horse to racefull to the End. But who knows towhat End or ends?

All fling their bodies forwardinto the great fog hiding the cliff.

Does the Rider, the Mind callit such? To avoid the other names,Chaos and Mere Chance.

Into these we cast the Mindand for its own sanity, it ‘floats’up a soul.

Time makes no sense to men,only to a Man. For a Man lives onlyin the days of his days...he caresnot of Time and Nights when hesleeps. Only men care about whathappens to themselves while theysleep; for they have become Dreadfulcompanions.

You see, Beggar, Time isnecessary for Death to act. Timeseparates events so that there can

65

be an Existence between Birth andDeath for each man.

The act of Death is necessaryto all men in order that there willalso be an act of Life; of Living.Existence is only possible if thereis Not-Existence. Hence, things,even men must ‘become’...there musttherefore be a ‘before’ and a‘beafter’.

If the conscious mind of eachman were to win over each Bodyagainst Death than become, before,beafter have no separation.

The conscious mind, indestroying Death, destroys Time,destroys existence, destroys itself.

The Body remains its enemy inthis. Yet the Body is destroyednonetheless...why resist thebeguile and lies of the consciousmind?

It is because the Body ispartially owned by a Man and alsopartially owned by Men. The Speciesof Men has a gamble, a stake uponeach man. Man’s social success, theCity, has built a world where theconscious mind has become ‘self-obsessed’ with its own demise. It‘hallucinates’ a soul out of amadness of dread, self-delusion ofimportance and obsession againsttime. Time as a pathological senseof moment...moment...moment...yetall past, all future yaws on both

66

directions like a man on a tightrope.

In a sense that is the‘existence’ of consciousness. As aman riding upon a deaf, blind,bleeding man on a tight rope; therope above a great fall, the ropecoming from ...and leading to... aclose dense obscure fog...

No wonder itlearns...early...to pray.

So, within Dread, soul iscreated as an illusion ofimmortality. But immortality isprevented by the Body whichunderstands that for men, for theSpecies, the end of Death is the endof Existence.

Each man dies for the Species.Each man gives his life back intoNon-existence so there will continueto be Existence...continue to beSpecies. Full living Men.

Beggar:” If all men die thanwhy does existence not end?”

Short man:” If non-existencedies than existence must live. It isexistence and non-existence whichare immortal...some would even sayit is this flow which is the home ofthe gods...”

Beggar:” Each man ...afterman...after man....becomes...thegods?”

The Tall Man “ ” Aw, so you atleast agree to there being gods?”

67

Beggar “ We should be carefulhere as I believe our friend meansthe god exists as the flow of theSpecies of Man, do you not?”

Short Man: “ Yes. Souls existnot because gods exist but becausemen, for their very souls, wish godsto exist...

The ‘gods’ if you will, thenare of two sources...

The lie of the soul as avehicle of immortality; for as amortal thing, men...cannot create animmortal thing. Therefore theCreator of the lie of immortal soulsmust be itself immortal...

The other source of the godsis the collective future of Man...man by man...living...dying...asa flow...a river which if one manlived forever would cease...

This we have called: TheSpecies, a natural god, if you will,and the Body its ally, perhaps evento call it...its Soul.”

Species, where soul is theflow of men as a natural immortalityopposes City. City is the consciousmind of men devouring all in anunnatural immortality.”

Beggar “Why unnatural?”Short man: “ Species is as all

things are...perhaps even as a goditself...City wishes to re-createitself as The One God above allgods, souls and species...it must

68

destroy all or be itself destroyedby All...City is beyond a man’sfear of death, beyond men’s dread,it has become the ultimate terror ofLife itself. Understand this, myyoung friend, City fears Death somuch, it will choose the destructionof Life itself, the Cause, so thatDeath, the Effect, cannot exist.

For one can end Dread by Soulor end Dread by City-God...in otherwords, proclaim men as alreadyimmortal, indestructive...all youhave to do now is convince each manthat his own consciousness exists inthat god only...that collective ofsouls of men called City, calledHistory.”

Tall man:” History now. City.God and gods...why bother...allowingthat men create soul, why creategods? Why complicate things?”

Short Man: “A thing is createdout of fear but if remaining framedin fear, how can Dread become Hope?Like the paint of smile upon acourtish clown, we must use illusionto change one thing into theopposite. As if again ,our mirrors,one after the other around in acircle till a gaunt man looks fatand fed well in the last. We mustadd something to reality since Fearonly gave us reality and Reality,for the conscious man, only reapsfear.

69

Reality did not explain Deathand Time...it only gives theconscious man, fear. To ‘ believe’we must have more. Let us haveillusion. To elude we must havemystery. What do we need formystery? The Unknown. The UnknownCreator of Hope, not Dread. TheGods.

Tall man: But again, I ask whycantthe man create this mystery?”

Short Man: “ Because, myfriend, it is not logical. Though Iagree, the End is illogical, themeans to it must not be. For it iscreated by the conscious mind ofman. You may plunge off a cliff butyou cannot fly to the edge...the wayto it is step by step. If a mancould create a soul which isimmortal, then why does not the manjust become immortal? For it wouldbe within his means. Instead, is itnot more logical that a Creatorcreated a man AND created asoul...and the man must be led stepby step to it.

If the soul is shrouded inmystery... and the Creator...and theWay to it, then the possibilitiesgrow and grow.

Remember falsehood is clearlyseen but truth can be as easilyimagined as falsehood. In this lightyou clearly see before you, to say I

70

am not would be seen to be utterlyfalse. But in darkness...? If I didnot speak? You, in truth, can knowme to be here or not.

So beware what is calledtruth, what is called false, what iscalled reality. Truth is what wechoose to believe is truth, in thatthere is no absolute...norabsolution.

Creating god, we have createda louder, better voice in thedarkness. If so many hear it, can itbe silent? Even if they but willedto hear it.

Religion is a land of willedand willing shadows then. A landwhere logic works well like theworld outside mirrored inside abubble. It all works the same, isthe same, feels the same.

A man may feel his soul buthe cannot see it, so they mustbalance that blindness with a castof their gods’ shadow.

In this place of shadow,though they cannot see the god, itis enough that they believe theshadow is of the god...not of theirown blindness.

It is that simple act ofbelief, that the shadow is a god‘leaning’ over them which createsall this. This Market Place, theseidols, this annual pilgrimage, thisdiscussion, even my tall companion’s

71

scowl all seemingly originate fromthis belief.

That being said it stands alsothat the greater the god’s shadow,the greater their own soul, for whatis large in obscurity can it not bealso large in possibilities?

For the eye of Man is theprism in his world...between hisworlds. The worlds of known andfelt-to-be-known; wished-to-be-known. Just as a prism opens thenarrow Unseen into a rainbow offantastical so to our prism opensthe shadow of ‘what is’ into alarger ‘what could be’.

Now does thou know a little ofthe mathematics of levers, my youngfriend?”

The young beggar replied “ Alittle. Some things on one end canseem to outweigh more concretethings on the other end simply bybeing further from the centre of thetruth.”

The short man laughed “ Wellput, beggar boy. Well then the eyeis a prism between worlds and alsothat fulcrum of truth you spoke of,or at least, if not the actualtruth..the belief that it is so.

Let us put the soul on one endand the god on the other. Forbalance then a larger godnecessitates a larger soul, does itnot?. No man desires the soul of an

72

insect...all wish to be lions orsuns or what not.

So a great shadow signifies agreat god and that yields a greatsoul. Yet, too, with our lever, asmall god a good distance away doesthat not also create a large soulcloser to the eye?”

The boy looked puzzled “ Doyou mean to say that the further oneis from the truth of their god, thanthe closer they are to their actualsoul?”

The short man answered “No,the further away we place our godsthe less knowledge we will have ofthem. They become greater shadows.The greater shadow weighs heavierupon the fulcrum of truth and thuslifts a man’s soul to higherheights. Wether their soul isactually greater or not is of noconcern...it appears to be greater.Just as a dog is very tall to a mansprawled on the ground.”

The tall man interrupted, hisarms waving his impatience “Curs andthe shadows of curs! I do not holdthat my religion grovels so low inthe ground as that!”

“ No, no. That is not mymeaning, dear friend. What wediscuss is that it is the nature ofcomparisons to allow The Infinitewhen one cannot define one side ofthe equation.” replied the short

73

man.He continued “ Even thus onto

the shadow becoming full darkness,this does not lend onto each mandespair as you would think itshould. No one ‘sees’ god yet allbelieve such to exist. How can eyessee without seeing? They must be ledto believe they see. If at the endof the lever there is only darkness,than there is infinity”

The beggar asked” Why not seethe darkness, as emptiness,nothing?”

The short man replied “For tworeasons. One, the darkness began asa shadow, but not as a shadow ofhopelessness, but rather as hope.The eye does not in itself turn thatshadow of hope into a dark night ofhopelessness. Rather, it remains inthe greater possibilities. The otherthing is that the man still feelsthe soul...and that feeling of soullends a weight to the lever to keepit ‘up’; uplifting. To seehopelessness at one end is to denysoul. Few men will do such for thefeeling of soul remains. If notsoul, than what is the feeling?

Let instead the room be dark,a solid block upon the end of ourlever. This lever, men, with theireyes, travel down upon as if a road.Let the god within be cast permanentin shadow. Its darkness becomes the

74

number: infinity. Thus, too, theeyes are blind in their staringfocus upon darkness.”

The young beggar shook hishead “ This is a puzzle. For we havea dark room and darkened eyeswalking to it. Men err much however.In their souls walking through life,how does than a blind man finddirection? Would it not be better tohave a Light... or at least, abeckon of light?”

Short man: “When I do amathematical equation such as somany numbers equal an unknown, Ihave many possibilities to definethe numbers. Make no mistake, young man,if the sum is defined, than thenumbers will become defined.”

The tall man interjected “Thisis as absurd as four dogs and catsequal a horse. If the result isunknown, then all the parts areunknown. How does one make sense ofsuch senselessness?”

The short man replied“Religion makes rules as one blindman leading another blind man fromone false door to another. We,outside, as the Observors call such,absurd...but we have forgotten.

Forgotten the goal of thegame, my friends. God. Mystery.Hope. Soul. End of Dread.

The ‘mechanics’ , the

75

‘science’ of belief my friends doesnot have to stand the test ofreality. No. No. It must stand thetest of Sense. If it is sensed to betrue, than it is.”

The beggar asked “ But whythen these rules and customs andinhibitions and restraints that onesees so much in religion?”

Short Man “ Aw, my boy, themore you build upon a false house,the greater all will come to believeof that house. We move about, aroundand with each other with false toolsand false materials all seeminglyworking together to build a greatchurch of worship. That greatmultitude in dance has become thebelief itself. We want to bedeceived. Remember always that. Allmen want to be deceived into belief.

From this deception comesforth the Law of Contrasts. Menfeel they do not add up....that theparts do not yield a full sum...asif in building themselves theyremain always short ofmaterials...as if labourers who movematerials from end to end but nevercomplete the house...soul is created to fill this gap, inand of the walls, in and of the roofof their dwelling place......the larger the gap is felt to be,then the larger must be the soulthey create in their minds...

76

The Law of Contrasts demandsthat the lesser of a man, thegreater is his god. For cannotgreater gods than ensure greatersouls, greater immoralities? Or, atleast, a greater chance ofimmoralities?

The further a belief is fromits knowledge of a god, does notthat lack of knowledge, so so tinyon one end of the lever, yield ahigher elevation of god? Will notmystic yield revelations? Will notpenance yield salvation? Will nothumility yield grandeur?

The less a Man believes ofhimself; of his self without soul;then the more he has of soul; forwhen his cup is empty of the day’soffering, it is thus full oftomorrow’s spirit.

Light a candle and theCeilings Above illuminate.

Curse a god and Hell opens itsmouth wider.

A desperate prayer movesanother world. Would not, than, adeath, any death, the lastwhispering breath in death of sayeven a loved one be amplified bythis Law into a heavenly chorus ofwelcoming gods; bring to the Lake ofDarkness a fleet of immortal shipsto greet the solitary worm-man awashwith moon-glow, his limbs as weedsof motion in the tide waves...

77

Remember two things of the Lawof Contrasts...it is allillusion...and it is all believed.If all believe, then, it cannotremain illusion. The power in theLaw is in its Lie.

There are three kinds of menin this Lie of Religion. Those whobelieve very well in the Lie; those(the most) who believe not so well;and, those who pocket thedifference.

Most men do not believe well;spend their lives and dreams in thedaily dust but, from time to time,when a Death or Calamity brushestheir congealed eyes a little open,they peek a little at Hope, at Soul.It is not really a welcome Sight.”

The tall man “I thought youargued that all men seek hope frommortal death?” Why would they notwelcome this?”

The short man “ Men who do notdwell often at Hope are not as“practised” in deception of Self orOthers. They are as uneasy with thisas if they have awoken in a roomwith a dead man who was alive beforethey slumbered.

Now those who believe well(and these are very rare) would notcare. For they are lost and happy ina strange world where their onlybusiness is their own dying. This isnot as morbid as it sounds, young

78

man. Though seemingly mad at timesbecause of their ‘extremes’ inBelief, most men call them bothcomic and visionary. Prophets,seers, mystics and hermits, they arenot really men but more like carrionbirds circling their own bodies.Birds without legs. One senses inthem that Hope has won; that theseare not men who are living waitingto die but are as a man dead waitingto be born. As I said, they are rareand everyone, for a moment, wishesto be like them. The way ashipwrecked man might envy the fishjust before he kills and eats it.

Those many who do not believewell however are uneasy with thisdead man. They wish first of all tobe convinced it is not a mirror.Though it is strange in a way thatthe living wish to be convinced theyare not dead even though this wouldproof their immortality.

For who knows what Life lookslike from the shores of the ImmortalDead? Just as the arrow looks uponthe bird as a still thing!?

So how do you proof a man isdead? Well, you can watch him rot.Not a very comforting or fastsolution. Remember that those who donot believe well (and they are themany) will not believe (with theireyes a little open) for long and soneed answers quickly.

79

So, my friends, let us notproof he is dead. Let us insteadmake him alive. If living, thenthere is Hope, there is still noDeath. Our ‘watcher’ can go back tosleep.

Enter the third man. TheDifference.The Pockets of Difference. Even Hopeis for sale. That is the way ofmen...and their City.

With many thin breaking wiresthe dead man can made to walk anddance again. With candles andshadows see the face of Death changeexpressions in the Conversationswith the gods. Listen to the noisesof singing and bells...no one canhear the silence of Death breathingabove that.

This is the law of Contrasts,Beggar. As simple as that. Made forthose to profit in the Lie of theDead man. Made that the Body dies ofits own will but the Mind decreessomething else for itself. Madebecause Time does not end but no mancan see further than from one wallto the other wall of his skull. Madeto allow the Many to slumber whilethe Few feed. Made so that aConscious Man can remain amongstMen. Made so a City can replace aSpecies. Made so that men can becomeimmortal if only as One. Or a systemof men as the One. Made so that the

80

opposite of a Lie is...Lie. And thatbecomes the only truth left formen.”

Beggar’s son: “Let me ask youthis...in your heart and mind, arethere no gods then?”

The short man: “ Men creategods to create hope. Even a man atsuicide jumps to some little hope,that hope. My intellect travelsalone in hesitation. Few men in aroom of absolute darkness can willtheir eyes completely shut...callingthose eyes, useless.

I confess to you, my boy, thatI yet strain to become an atheist.Hence, my purchase you see not soloosely tucked under my arm.

With that the men moved on,leaving the Beggar’s young son toseek the dust of his own travels.

81

The Second DayThe beggar’s young son had

rested in that place free to all inthe City. Given out by its Naturebut used by only a few. The earthherself. Dirt. Dust.

Finding a semi-hole in analleyway off an alley off an obscurestreet so as to hide from the CityGuardians of the night. They, who attheir worst, make sport of theirvictims with the iron tools of theirtrade or, at best, kick sleepingvagrants along to discourage anythoughts of a permanent habitat.

This beggar’s hole sufficed togive solitude as there are always ina City places where even spears darenot swagger. The Field of Darknessmaking a better coward than asoldier out of these CityBrutalions.

Alone then, the Beggar hadisolation but rested little. Hismind was full of the Short Man’sphilosophy. Debating its pros andcons; the backdrop of his night’sdwelling of filth and shadow anaccurate painting of the day’s

82

discussion ; a black landscape ofdeath folded inside living shadows.

Though he had said little inrebuttal, he now debated the Shortman’sexplanation of the Law. The man haddescribed a religion completelyopposite to what his father hadtaught. Or so it seemed at firstexam.

Death dwelt little in hisFather’s teachings, though he had attimes spoken of such things as ‘hisFather’s house’ or ‘believe in meand have everlasting life’.

It seemed to the Beggar,however, that his father emphasizedlife now, not later. The here afterbecame an effect of the Cause ofliving like a human being now. As ifone created a soul and a heaven anda hell by the living force of one’sown humanities. One should not addhell he corrected himself. Hisfather often rebuked that in hisdisciples. They, he remembered, orat least some of them, were quick tobuild an ideology of punishmentagainst any non-believers.

His father called The

83

Many...Unknowing...in theirhearts...and Ignorance would not bepunished; just as no parent wouldstrike an infant for sins and wrongdoings more appropriately condemningto an adult.

Those who knew, however, anddid reject him, he did rebuke. Notfor his own sake or for His father’ssake but for the Many. For these Fewwere as snake coils of blindnessseeking any eyes of the many whomight wish to ventureinto...what...daylight?...humanity?Why is the pursuit of enlightenmentso cursed he wondered. And the morecursed, not by those who don’t knowit, but those who would prevent it?

Seemingly, his Father lovedeveryone but did not like the Few.

He would have liked the Shortman; he would have loved the Tallman. The Tall man would never havelooked into his eyes; the Short manwould have invited him into his homefor a meal and a long discussioninto the night.

Why did he, the Beggar’s son,lie here in the dirt then?

The beggar boy did not feel

84

sorry for himself lying in the dirtall night. He had slept in worse, inmud, in dung, in far more dangerthan this. He had never really likedwalls.

Other men liked walls becausethey held ‘things’ out, but healways felt to be uneasy around whatthe walls held in.

It was not so much the menthey held in as what was held in themen. He preferred freedom and paidits costs but he had learned earlyfrom the disciples that one thing acaged man hates most is a free man.

This is where men differ muchfrom their brethren, the animals.Even a dog. A chained dog will barkfuriously at a free dog but ifunchained will then run with thatdog.

And no free dog will pick upthat chain and place it back ontheir own neck.

No, a man does not lose hisway away from men but amongst them.For to ‘survive’ , or , at least, asthey called survival, all ‘man’ mustbecome a group. Like a flock ofbirds, some are ahead, some are

85

behind but all are at the sameheight. Perhaps that is the Lie thatis religion. Surely though spirit,spirituality is not.

Religion. The great devourer.As if the puppet masters becomecaught in their own strings. To makethe One dance for their own ends,they all become dancers and cannotseparate from the tyranny of themeans. This was his Father now.

Notr his father but they. Theyhad all raised him up by the stringsof their various designs andpurposes; their plots and intriques.

No son, no child wanted theirfather simply given to the mob. OrHis ideals.

For it seemed to the beggar’syoung son that one mob, the people,the religious leaders had taken hisbody, his life and another mob, thedisciples had taken his father’sideals, his very meaning.

There was great widespreadtalk of his resurrection of bodylater but before even that shorttime, the beggar’s young son hadbeen cursed and laughed away fromthe gathering.

86

Now he could see from theShort man’s discussion what thedisciples had done, had begun almostat the moment his Father drew a lastbreathe and forgave all.

They had changed the livingtestament of his Father’s work to anAnti-death testament of his Father’scrucifixtion and resurrection. Itwas not how he LIVED but how he didnot DIE which became their religion.

To be sold to the people. Likeall the other religions. The Law ofContrasts.

What is seen to have happenedhas not happened. Thus, to theBeggar’s son’s view entered theTricksters, the Masqueraders, theMerchants of Immortality.

He knew he was bitter. Bitterof this.

At first, young, alone,grieving so much alone, he had beenbitter at their rejection, theircallous indifference to a son whohad truly lost a Father. In hiseyes, they had only lost a friend, ateacher. He did not see that, formost, they had lost their chance.

Now he knew that some were not

87

like that but their nature would beused by the others to disguise aclimb to power, to recognition.Religions are not borne out of godsbut out of men...that maxim from theShort man he knew to be quite true,regardless of wether gods existed ornot.

Could he undo any of this? Whywould he? Go preach against thosewho used his Father’s meanings, hisideals, his miracles, his very bodyfor purposes of a politicalresurrection?

Talk. Talk against talk. Likethe Short man had said... ‘the moremen point into the shadows, the morethey believe what doesn’t exist’...

His Father had existed. TheBeggar’s young son was not so surewith the disciples that He stilldid. Wether one applauds or boos theplayers at a bad stage, one draws acrowd to them. He would leave themand their masks alone.

The boy remembered in theShort man’s talk that there was somehope, some love yet in humanity. Weare not just animals becominginsects.

88

Often, his Father had usedbirds, not animals, in his parablesof man and men. Perhaps it wasbecause, though much attached to theflock, birds could still soar. Justas a man in the City of men canstill soar in his soul. Bird andman. Flock and men. Equal because offlight. Fragile on the earth.

His Father had taught him thatmen did not exist in the eyes of agod. Only Man. That his Father’s Goddid not see the collective...He onlysaw Man as One...each One. Anindividual being. A soul already.

Wether that eluded to, orbrought on immortality, the beggar’sson did not know. He did know itbrought meaning.

Meaning to each man. It wasnot a trick but the more a man seesgod inside himself the more he seesof himself...as a man...as a goodman.

His Father had explained thatall good lies within...is presentinside man as a likeness of god isinside man. It is not god...it isHis likeness. Virtue is not agod...but it is a kind of Soul.

89

As the Beggar’s young sondrifted of to sleep he was thinkingit was a paradox...the more completea man feels himself to be, the lesshe feels the need for soul...agodless man may therefore be a morecomplete man...yet remains in thefull image of a god

Still the smaller the soul,the smaller the god, yet, the largerthe man...at least the abstractrealizations of a god decline....the road he travels becomes lessspiritual, more realist.....but thisholds true only if one assumes thesource of soul is the Dread of theShort man...

What if the source of Soul issome other thing...some other wordthan god or immortality?

...a man trades hisdreaded soul for his other soul.that is to say..he will have one orthe other...but never needingboth...

Each man must find his ownsoul...souls cannot be barteredbetween men...only between the godswhich own the souls..and the men whoown each god....

90

When he did awaken, theBeggar’s young son instantly knewwhat he would attempt to do. Hewould attempt to teach a little ofhis Father’s work to the crowds atthe Marketplace of Gods. Inteaching, he also would learn. Hedid not believe that spiritualitywas simply running from death asreligion seemed to be. Inside, thereis more to a Man than fear.

On the way to the Marketplacehe purchased some objects which hewould use in his discussion, hadthem wrapped individually to sell ata minimum price to replace the waresof the ‘God-hawkers’.

When he got to the Marketplaceof the Gods, it was alreadybeginning to be its bedlam of abuse,worship and commerce.

The Beggar wove his way gentlyaround the outskirts of the millingcrowd till he found an area lesscrowded. Here he set up his wares.It was close enough to draw someears away from the main ‘din’ butstill quiet enough for the Beggar’sson not to have to catapult hiswords above the ‘forth and foam’ of

91

the other Merchants.Even before he began to speak,

some of the crowd, wether because ofexhaustion at the merchants’ abuseor curiosity of something new orawaiting their turn into the ‘Swirlof Selection’, turned to hear hisforms of abuse against the millingworshipers.

He spoke, however, far moregently than any they had ever heardbefore.

“They say there is a journeytowards god which walks away fromman. I ask you, my friends, whichway does a man lean in this journey?Forward to add weight to thegod...or backward linger longer as aman?

For few men know their god;few men know themselves.

But by the Law, the lesser aman is, the greater will be his god.These are only passing words, aneulogy of something less...and wecannot be held to clap or cry forthe death of little men...or indeedsmaller and smaller men.”

The puzzled look on some ofthe crowd turning to anger told the

92

beggar that they had naturallyassumed he had insulted them as thatwas the way of the Marketplace.

“Friends! No! No! I mean notthou. Thou art great men, better menbut now are juggling for a place ofSin. That is the last place where aman will look for himself. In Sin,he looks for god, he looks forforgiveness.

If the crowd is Sin, is thereany Man within? No. There is onlygod.”

Now a merchant (a great mouthand beard upon very small legs)closest to the Beggar’s spot hadbeen drawn to this talk,anticipating the usual cascade ofcondemnation upon his own ‘buyers’near his stall. The beggar wasobviously a newcomer and ,worse,speaking out of form and custom andso the Merchant bellowed aninterruption “ You of Rags there!You cannot speak of gods and sinsand laws! That is the great domainand license of myself and thesefellow Merchants. No one can justenter this place of holy barter and,like a bad fruit stand, auction off

93

flies for figs.”To this the Beggar replied

“The Law of Contrasts is only that;in this Marketplace, all that isrequired for barter, for buy andsell, for cat and mouse, for beg andcommerce, for gods and men is...difference...only difference.

I, if I may daresay, thusbelong here, my friend, for I differas much from you as any other voicespoken by man. Thou art proud, I amhumble. Thou art artful, I am butsimple. Thou art beguiling to theGreat , I am only appealing to thesmall like a the smallest of cheesebefore a mouse. Thou art so high inthat stall, I am even shocked youcould see my tiny shadow at all. Asif Thunder would shush the splash ofan ant crossing a puddle...I am...”

The merchant, his roar oflaughter interrupting the beggar’sremarks ,sailed back " Enough,enough! Enough with your snake'stongue, beggar, it becomes a longhiss that irritates the ear. But weare all glad to hear your redressand note its return to rightfullook. I for one discredit not a man

94

unmeek in his lowly place providinghis hands and feet stay away fromthe loftier steps of his sight. Youare no merchant of god's chosen,beggar, though I see your ointmenthas attracted a small buzz of flies.Desist thy scratchings, for uphere, with feet higher than yourhead, we are the True Sowers andReapers. Given to scatter the seedamongst the flock. Uphold ourGreatness, our Trueness and thoumight stay and watch a greaterfeeding. Providing thy withhold thytongue of false songs."

Young Beggar: "Done, sir, inall the humility of base to toweringTruth. Except a question from thisbuffoon puzzled by his own lack ofwit. Forgive the bluntness of thisI can wrestle it out in no otherway: Yesterday I heard of the Lawof Contrasts here in the Square. Ifall such noble merchants as yourselfbe of great Truth and I be as Falseas a rat's grin, then does that notmake my goods, my gods of absolutefidelity just as yours are completein their falsehood?"

Absolute astonishment rippled

95

through the crowd and stunned theMerchants. Though as said the lawwas unwritten, the Custom had neverbeen broken. No one, before thisdaring rag, had ever spoken aloud ofthe Contrasts this near the Stallsof Worship. Though all the Godmerchants were horrific and, intruth, empty for a rebuttal, many ofthe crowd began to murmur consentand confide the question amongstthemselves. Some in honest query,most to simply delight the merchantsunstable stance and cornered shifts. The other Merchants began tolook to the merchant who had firstspoke each thankful they had beenspared this oration of puzzle. Thecrowd too looked to the merchant;all smirks at his tortured brow.And they waited awhile for hisreply.To himself he thought 'If I claim heis greatly false and gods a littletruth and thereby much false, hewill turn that easily upon us. Thatwe are greatly true and our gods alittle false and much true. Thiswill lead to all sorts of agonies, Iknow. If I disclaim to answer a

96

totally false question from a falseman, he will answer that a man ofTruth can answer any questiontruthfully whether that question isfalse or true. I will argue that ashe is not a true merchant, the lawof comparisons does not apply tohim. Falsehoods and truths areunique in this way only to theVendors of the gods.'And so the Merchant spoke across thewaiting crowd to the beggar "Theanswer to gain insolence, yourunpiousness would be yes, if thouhad any standing as a Merchant. Youhave not. You are false, animposter who dreams of some higherglory than can be scraped from arusted cup. But as you are as nearto a Merchant as dried dung is to acamel, you are false and your godsare false as no Contrasts apply. Sotake thy peddling elsewhere, thatthe crowd is not failed and faded towhat is Truth!"

The young beggar: “Greatmountain of the desert, son of greatmountains of the desert, your tongueof hooves has drove much reason intothis poorly wrapped skull. But also

97

confusion still leaves a doubtlessmirage of hope. I beg your windblast its shimmering beguileforever. Answer this and I go. Wasnot the Law of Contrasts given asUnwritten as it is a thing ofbelief? If written, proof would berequired. Logic in all things of thespirit is not welcomed we know. Butif unwritten all can believe as theywish to believe. Do the people noteach believe the falseness of a godand the trueness of a merchant;This is the Law unto the Merchantsyou say. But I deny this and say itis a Law onto the People. They useit. They may not build or prooffalsehood but it is their way andtheir law to accept or reject it.Blindly so it may be argued but evena blind man is entitled to the Law,for who is not blind in the spirit?Does not the user own what he usesfor its time in use? Where bought,borrowed or stolen? In this way theLaw is of the people to use. If itwas solely that of the Merchantsthen how would the people believe?Thou would have a poor suppercarving the Law between yourselves.

98

It has been said: When the Law iswritten it belongs to those whoscribe to its purpose; when the Lawis unwritten it belongs to those whobelieve to its purpose. YouMerchants believe only in thewretchedness of the people, that isno contrast, it is truth! The peoplebelieve in your uprighteousness,that is no truth, it is contrast.What say you now, is the Law theirsor yours? And if theirs what righthave you to deny their believe inanything of contrast in this Square?Whether they believe me false ortrue or my gods or your gods; whoare you to demand disbelief? Who areyou to demand the look of contrastsfor yourself with falsehoodsabundant at your perch whilecondemning upon such as I thesentence of like bears like?" The end of this the crowdroared and thumped their feet indust. Must could only follow a bitof the argument but sensed a victoryfor the beggar. Especially as themerchant's face began more twitchedand forlorn as this last rebuttalcontinued.

99

The merchant knew the argumentwas lost. Best just ignore hiscocky crows. Besides the crowd maylike his strutting but unlikely tobuy from his hoard of gleanings. Andlater the merchant would talk tosome friends he knew. Influentialfriends who would think the removalof a beggar from the city a minorthing easily done. So ignoring thebeggar’s last response, the merchantsimply turned to the crowd and beganharassing them as before. The othermerchants caught the hint and beganto do likewise.

The crowd ,at first puzzled,then began to stammer at theMerchant for a reply. Othersrealized the now total victory forthe beggar and gave cheer but it wasa ragged thing as few came to thenote at the same time. As well themilling had begun as the Godmerchants came back to full voiceand lashed before their neighborsstall. Except the beggar's few.These the Merchants left to idle.

And the Beggar's young sonbegan his ply as well but in a muchkinder tone. As he had said he was

100

no trained Merchant so spoke oftruth about his gods rather than thesins before him.

"People. I would not daredemean your character and lay thesigma of 'follower' upon yourpersons. Yet I know you have come tothis stall because you are boldenough to look above the dust forsome more purer drought. Each yearthe thirst to your throat hasdragged you onward from cool shelterto this public well. Your cupsreaching, hollow in their ring,where hands grip the stone. Andthough the depths are shallow, thedrop is far.

And people, forlorn people,hear this. For you see it is notour Thirst, our need, our vessel atfault; nor is it the depth or widthor sweetness of the well. There isno stretch of man, no matter howgiant, how enormous amongst hisbrothers, who can gather abouthimself the full length of thisreach. Kings to paupers all are thesame in this, all are equal in theirinadequacy to the need. It cannotbe done. Who of you rich as you

101

maybe can buy another inch to yourarm? Who of you, of great power andwill, can add arm upon arm and closethe distance?

Oh I know, Brothers, the faultand folly of all of us, both buyerand seller, in the trickery andgadgets we have attached to ourcups. All these falsehoods to belost, to slip from our grasp andplunge to the depth.

Brother! One would think thatthe depths would have surely rose tospill over the walls what with thisconstant add of inventive trappings.But the well is deemed as broad asdeep. Our yearnings are but asplash to its eternity of volume; anoise in the dark; no more.

Then what are we to do?Stumble with the ache of a thirstwhich seems tear a throat to a greatgaping hole of dust; whereby ourentire being stumbles into? Is thisour lot? A cake of salt for ourbread and the wine of dust forthirst?

People, people we have beenmisguided by our own guides. Whohave been guided by our laments of

102

need. It is a simple truth in asimple change in direction. We havestared at the distance so long, weare blind, out of focus, to what issee. Is there only one well wherethis can be seen? Cannot any wellgive forth the same? The gods, theimmortality, the quench of terrorcan this not be found in other wellscloser to a man's hand?

What cruel jester or foamingfool weaved the riddle thatworthiness equals remoteness? As ifa man dare not love what he cantouch or embrace.

If we reach for what is inthis well but it remains oblique,why not reach where it is not. Ifwhat we see in this well can be seenin all wells, in all vessels, in allcups, then pray Brothers! What isthe point of denial?

Enough! Enough!, I say of thisblind grinding wheel of history! Leteach man take into his hands thedrink of destiny, the cup ofreceived communion that he maybeblessed by what he sees, by what hefeels, by what he is rather thancursed by what he is blind to,

103

untouched to, and by what he nevercan be.

You seek gods? In this greatwell? They are there, seeking you!Where you look, they look. Theyareas blind as we are blind. Theyare as hollow as we are hollow.Where we look is nothing. It iswhat we look for that defines thegod.

I do not sell gods. I sellwells, cups, vessels. My task issmall; yours is enormous. And yourtask cannot be given to a slave, aservant to carry. It is solely eachman's burden to be the altar of hisown god to carry such covenant, suchlikenesses, such gongs and symbolsas he believes worthy of his owngod. And to endure the sting ofcontempt or drive away the clutch ofenvy as othersshould mock or covet to look uponhim.

These gods here piled behindme. Inert, stagnant outside yourtouch. These I offer not as agarden opened; not as a paradiseregained but as an ocean of

104

turbulent tears. I offer onto you aplace where maidens overstep theirskirts and delight the foam to theirhips. A place where wise men clingto rocks and know the weight of themoon as it covers their lips, aplace where sailors ride ropes andsing, sing for a wild wind in or awild wind out. Tis no matter exceptthe wildness. A place where pebblescount and massive rolling thingsdon't. Because all is close soclose a tangible bond in theinfinite liquid that magnificentebbs to minute and minute rises toawe and splendor. Again and again.

Yes, I know brothers, littleof this is understood. But theknowledge of it is heard. Heardwhistling down to your heartsbrothers. Hearts that wish to goback and thereby go forward andrace. Race plunging through thisgreat infinite of expanse. Yourgods, your religious, yourawakenings piled behind me.

Take them upon yourselves,brothers. I would offer them free asthey are never open to price. For

105

in the circle of infinity does notmighty become delicate enough tohold in a palm? And does notpriceless therefor become free? Freeto those who know its worth, cheapto those who are blind to itspreciousness?

But it is also written thatdoubt gathers the fruits of its owncost. And I know your doubts,brothers. And do not mock them.For the spark of thought is a doubt.And thought is the flame ofliberation. So what is doubted mustbe paid for. Were your doubt toreceive upon itself this free gift,it would swell in its disbelieve.And this would bring uponyourselves: the sceptic. Andbrothers you need not be one ofthose to dim already blind eyes. Tobe a doubter of your own doubts, tospend a lifetime defining onequestion with more questions. Thusthe sceptic lives and thinks becausehe is unwilling to pay the cost ofhis doubt. Reluctant to place itopen before his eyes; all eyes andchance truth written upon it. Andthereby lose his doubt and his final

106

cling to significance as he hasdefined it or crawled to it.

But you are not one of thosebrothers. They are rarelyfound so high above the dust.No, you

are seekers, not clingers. Yourdoubt is carried open as a candle.I ask a bit of its light. A titleof 1/10 of what the other godmerchants title. For this god youwould purchase is only 1/10 asfalse. Why not absolute? Absolutetruth or goodness?

Here I caution you brotherslook not upon this god as absolute.For the state of absolution bringsupon itself the state of perfection.Be not so cruel, so unkind, myBrothers, as to place this largestone upon the hearts of a god. Forperfection yields upon itself theterrible compel of perfection in allacts, thoughts or creations. Butdid not this god create man;continues to create man? And isthis creation perfect? The argumentleans to yield yes even at thisstarting place but most would revoltsuch an assumption. Or we can give

107

argument that man whether good orevil is perfect to the design he wascreated for. As if a wheel made halfround and half square is suited bothfor travel and rest. As if the godshave made a perfect universe butorder and chaos must abide togetherlike dead and living flies in acage.

But does this not meanBrothers that every act, everythought, every doubt, every squashof a but, every sin, all, all, allmust be joined to some great perfectplan? Think Brothers how we wouldthus be laden these gods withinfinite weight of strings to workthis Puppet show. These strings!This life of song played on such amonstrous violin. Perfect the playerso perfect the note but a longtedium of harmony till the finalcurtain falls to eternal call.

And thus of us, Brothers, webecome now the perfect Puppets.Bond, chained to the perfect stringswe cannot tremble a finger or bat aneye lest a vibration change thestrumming tune. Bound, bound in thisheavenly web. Where in the name of

108

a perfect god, can will be found?Free will promised or cursed uponman. It is a blind man's circle,Brothers, to follow the will insearch of perfection. As perfectionitself denies the free will tosearch onto perfection. It is aclosed door this way, my friends andwill never answer to the top of yourcane.

No go this way, Brothers.Think of a master craftsman. Helabors months to build to create achair. A chair of remarkable beautyand form. But somewhere minute butreal is a flaw. It has no effect onthe function or appearance of thechair but none the less is a flaw.

And say, we would purchase thechair. And use it to fullgratification for months. Thenone

day, while polishing the chair, wediscover the flaw. Then what is ouraction, Brothers?

Do we then curse and condemnthe master craftsman for the rest ofour lives? Curse him for being one

109

step from perfection while weourselves would be yards away? Do wespend years arguing and lamenting ifthe flaw was intentional or not? Dowe spend hours, Days, years at thecraftsman's place begging, pleading,praying for a flawless replacement?

Or are we more merciful anddecrease its punishment not corporalbut rather continuous. Dailywhipping or poked with not iron,perhaps? With a ludicrous large signstuck upon it where reads: HUMBLY DOI THUS BEAR THE PENANCE OF MYORIGINAL SIN. Do we continue thischastisement, Brothers, till allbeauty is chipped and driven fromthe chair and its original flaw isforgotten to the sameness, to themarriage of hundreds alike?

ASK YOURSELF, MY BROTHERS,WOULD YOU DO THUS TO A CHAIR? Achair you valued and loved and paiddearly for?

Then why thus to your hearts,your minds, your gods? Your mind isyour eye, your heart is a window. Donot rub years away over a slightsoreness in one, or a slight smearin the corner in the other. Unfocus

110

the dirt, my friends, and look out.To the bounty of your god freelygiven.

So I ask this test of yourpatience, Brothers, Take uponyourselves each a package, each agod. But before you unwrap thismost precious vision of each reflectone half of an hour. Reflectbetween your heart and your mind oryour god. Or of what a god would beif thou were allowed construct him.Let your heart and your mind workupon this plan in staid and earnestdesire. Forget all other gods beforeyou cept take upon your heart andmind any items you recall of joy orbeauty. You need not take uponyourself any god of anyone elsewhether father, mother, teach,royalty. Build this image, thisvision to a god you would worship,love, adore, give your will to, anddie for. Build this god to such abreadth of wisdom that you wouldtrod a million leagues to discernfrom it one great truth. Or buildupon your heart and mind a god ofsuch compassion and love that youcould not help but become a funnel,

111

a duct to it and feed love and songsof praise to all your brothers. Ora god of justice huge in hisdefiance of falsehood and evil. Hiscrown a place of foresight for allto judge the ways of only their ownpaths, not others.

These are only hints, mybrothers. Build yours as your heartand mind insists. For what heart hasnot yearned for a special god; whatmind has not thought of a god andworld that should be here?

Do this without annoyance orinterruption. Do it as if the veryfabric of your existence dependsupon it. As if the vision you seewill turn your very stagger ofdestiny. Put no limits to this god;remember that what you envision willbe yours for eternity.

Then unwrap the paper and lookupon your god. Yours forever. Theone you envisioned, created. You,the creator of your creator.

And here I caution you again,brothers. You are creators. But whoamongst us is of perfect mind orheart. Imperfect will createimperfect. So do not anger or dwell

112

if you see upon the god flaws orimperfections. Remember it is thewindow as such not the scene. Lookpast them, these small flaws; lookaround them and behold the beauty,the joy, the life. Infinite in itspossibilities and variations, nowdefined in its now god like state.

And put this God in the mostprominent place in your house forwhat father would bind his only son;his heir to some closet out of shamebefore visitors? And put thisGod in the most lofty peak of yourmind and heart. To be taken out ofyour house as you visit the world;for what father asks his child tokeep ten paces behind like a shunneddog.

For, Brothers, your God shouldbe open and in full embrace of theworld. Its flaws and imperfectionsthe mere stones and hollows of apath leading higher and higher. Ifthen trip, then trip. This is nosin. But mighty is the sin of thestone heart halted before thepebble. And evil is the stone mindthat counts the pebbles on anotherpath.

113

Brothers, do not flounder, weare all ships pointed to the horizonof destiny; the golden sun ofeternity. Do we build anchors orsails? Brothers, enough of thisrattling of chains and stench ofharbor swill. Unfurl the great purewhite billow of your hearts; placevision to the wheel and lift thewake of lightened passage.

Here, Brothers, take thesepackages. Your buoyant cargo; yourmaps and compass. Mark upon themwith your hearts and minds the linesand points of journey. A journeyacross this great Well of spirit.Throw down your meager cups andassemble your great Vessels.

Do not gawk and buy what is oflead or clay. Build, Brothers.Assemble. Sail. You are theshipwrights, the sailors,navigators, captains of your ownvision. Take up these hammers tobuild, not destroy. Let each tap beharmonized with your heart. Letvision of your mind stay clean andsharp to the swinging arc. Andrejoice the assemblage of yourfreedom.

114

"Create your God with yourlove and you will truly love the Godof your Creation."

With this the young Beggar wasfinished. The crowd came forwardand all bought the packages. For a1/10 the price of other gods as waspromised.

These they took home and allsat and meditated on the god theywould envision and would love. Thenthey opened the package and looked;it was a mirror.

But few could ponder orreflect all the words the youngBeggar had given them. Fewunderstood his message and therebyfelt cheated.

Knowing the young Beggars waysof persuasion, most feared to returnto him and demand their money. Asthey feared to be beguiled ortrapped again and thereby lose theirpurpose.

So they gathered before anofficer of the law and brought forththeir charges. The Law usuallystays distant from the workings ofthe god merchants but in the face ofthis collective harangue, it was

115

pushed forward.The young Beggar's son was

arrested (much to the delight of theother merchants) and taken before ajudge to have charges addressed andverdicts laid.

116