Tuesday, January 19, 2010

Chapter Four

Chapter Four


Five ten A.M. Naked except for his boxer shorts, Paul Holcomb stirred a teaspoon of instant coffee into the steaming mug of hot water. As he lifted the cup to his lips, moist aromatic vapor drifted into his nostrils reawakening the dream.
Part of him instantly surrendered and floated off. Another part held back, struggling. His heart thudded. Sweat gathered in hairy armpits, bushy blonde eyebrows and ran down the back of his neck. His eyes strained, burned near to tearing, the lids jerking up and down and side to side.
Then that part surrendered, too and Paul stood becalmed, eyes glazing, mug suspended inches from his mouth.
He tentatively touched then caressed the rising movement in his shorts. His expression slid into a mindless grin.
"Oh. Ah. Aaah. . . ! Oh. My Godd. . ."
In a deep trance, Paul lowered the mug to the counter and slipped off his shorts. Completely naked, he knelt on the cool linoleum, now the shining marble floor of a vast ancient temple. Faint orange light from ornate high-mounted torches reflected from the polished surface and gleamed on the copper-colored flesh of the woman seated on the throne above him.
Her scent drifted into his nostrils borne on the warm wind moaning softly through the cavernous space. The Incense of Forgetfulness.
Hot and moist, it smelled sour and dirty like moldy cheese and fresh saliva but unbelievably musky, too. He inhaled it ravenously, pulling the jasmine kissed stench deep into his lungs.
Each breath narrowed the world to that smell; the feel of sacred oil, satiny, on his bare flesh, and the throb of his blood. Feelings, hot and deep burned away his mind, arousing and transforming him until. . . .
He was the sensuous movement of a sleek black panther, who, after awakening from a nap in the sunlight, its fur crackling with radiant warmth, languorously stretches itself at its mistress' bare feet, its belly barely touching the floor. So he, fully and unashamedly aroused, lithe muscular body gleaming with scented oil, stretched himself sumptuously before his Mistress, erect penis barely touching the cold marble floor feeling good to be empty that way, wanting only to please and be petted; waiting upon the gorgeous woman above him.
But she took no notice of him. Naked and at ease upon her throne, wearing only the golden belt, bra and diadem of an Aztec Goddess, she starred into the middle distance, unaware of the way his eyes followed the rhythmic rise and fall of her breasts. Or of how the shifting shades of her flesh fascinated him as its ripeness gleamed first golden, then copper in the flickering orange torch light.
Paul ached with the fullness and emptiness of Her; of looking at Her and smelling Her. Everything about Her filled him with lust and adoration. Her regal posture, arms on arm rests, spine erect; long lustrous black hair lying luxuriant on bare shoulders. The thoughtless elegance of Her lush young body as it heedlessly crushed the red velvet covering the black onyx throne.
He imagined himself that velvet cloth, there, beneath Her warm buttocks. His face turned up, bearing Her weight, inhaling Her odor, touching Her moist succulent flesh.
Anything to please and serve you, my Lady.
He was filled with mindless obedience to sensual urgings.
I am yours, Mistress. You need do nothing and I am your adoring slave. You are my reality. I, your creature, your thing.
He wanted only to become empty by filling himself with Her worship, Her service, Her smell. Her mere presence sent feverish tremors through him. Oh, to be one with Her! Absorbed by Her flesh, sacred soul released unto Her, body abased before Her, forever.
But his prayers went unanswered. She simply sat and allowed Herself to be adored; a Goddess, serene and beautiful, the all powerful Female, sacred and above him.
His eyes teared from the incense.
I am a shimmering vapor of hopes and desires -- a pathetic worm beneath Her notice.
He whimpered with the pain of his throbbing erection.
How can I attract Her attention?
Thoughts and feelings had no effect. She remained as unaware of him, as She was of the rows and rows of other naked male and female worshippers stretching away into the dim vastness behind him.
Yet was he favored. He knelt closer to Her than the others, his face on the cool marble floor just inches from the plush stool supporting Her bare well-tended feet.
"Oh's" and "Ah’s" of appreciation rose from the kneeling multitude telling him the service was drawing to a close.
He knew the ritual by heart. In his mind’s eye he saw the beautiful blonde priestess step again from among the lords and ladies arrayed around the Goddess’ throne, her ancient Aztec garb swaying around her comely body. Taking a step forward, she posed, white arms raised above her head, allowing the multitude to adore her.
When the sighs died away, her clear voice rang out, commanding them to worship. As one, they obeyed, voices swelling, filling the cavernous temple with a low chant of praise.
Paul remained silent. The sound came to him as if from a great distance. Though he longed to join the others, he could not.
The priestess knelt near him. As the chant died away, she bowed herself down before the Goddess. From the corner of his eye, Paul saw her willowy body rising and falling.
Then she laid herself flat, face to the floor, arms stretched over her head. The Goddess had smiled upon her. A moment later, the priestess rose, turned to the worshippers and extend her arms at right angles palms facing them in the unspoken command to worship. A soft whoosh followed by the flat sound of flesh on marble, told him hundreds of glistening nude bodies were bowing down and rising up in heart-felt obeisance.
Still he could not join them. Erect penis straining at every chant and each command, he remained motionless, his face at Her feet. And She, magnificent and aloof, sat, indifferent above him.

Monday, January 18, 2010

It's Broken, Let's Fix It

Churchill supposedly said, “people get the government they deserve.” Scary thought! But say that Churchill is right and I feel I deserve something better. What then? Washington, Franklin and Jefferson thought they too, deserved something better. As they did 234 years ago, I can realize a change is necessary then join with others to discuss and explore something better. That’s what I’d like to do and invite you to join me in such a discussion/exploration.

I’m not suggesting a second American Revolution as some are, or a Libertarian, Tea Party type solution. Frankly, I’m not very sure what to do, and am scared shitless of those who do, that’s why I want to discuss and explore. I do feel that more than cosmetic change is needed, tho; that changing the governing party from Democract to Republican and back again, isn’t working that well; just look at the “blue dog” Democrats. Bi-partisanship isn’t enough. A third party isn’t enough. Washington warned about political parties and factionalism and he was right.

We need a shift to ‘trans-partisanship’ or no partisanship. The Party system and the polarization, gamesmanship and gridlock that go with it are destroying the country. When party labels, party discipline, party dogma and party loyalty become more important than the health and well being of the Nation, as is the case now, it’s time to ditch party labels, party discipline, party dogma and party loyalty.

If you see this too, and know we can do better and would like to explore ways of achieving a trans-partisan system in which party labels, party discipline, party dogma and party loyalty are irrelevelant, please join me and let’s dialogue.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Is American Democracy Broken?

Miami held a special election this past Tuesday that cost $300,000. Of the 63,000 residents of the district, 39,961 are registered. Of those, approximately 12% turned out; that means roughly 4,500 people voted. The ‘winner’ got more than half of those votes, and a ‘landslide’ would have been 3,000 votes. So in other words, 3,000 people decided who would ‘represent’ 63,000 people. Does this seem ‘right’ to you? Does this seem like ‘democracy’?

It doesn’t seem ‘right’ nor like ‘democracy’ to me; it seems like something isn’t working and is broken. Many excuses are offered – ‘off-year’ election, local election, but these seem pretty lame to me. ‘Democracy’ isn’t what it used to be, and isn’t working now. Check it out – 63,000 people, approx 40,000 ‘eligible’ to vote, 4,500 vote. Even during ‘on-year’ elections with big issues of state and national interest, only 48% of the ‘eligibles’ turn-out. And, the thirty year trend is for lower registrations and lower turn-outs. Not very ‘good.’

There is something dead, deeply and fundamentally broken about this, and it seems to me until we admit that, until we stop making excuses for it and stop thinking we can patch it up, we won’t be able to fix it. Pretending it’s OK and denying that it’s fundamentally broken, keep the status quo. It’s not about blaming, punishing, or being ‘un-American,’ it’s simply about fixing something that’s broken beyond repair. When our shoes are broken, we fix ‘em, or our cars or houses.

I have some ideas about why this is happening and what to do about it, but before those can be shared, people have got to understand that new ideas are necessary, that the ‘system’ is broken. Until we’re ready to admit it’s not working, until we give up denial and admit we care and can do better, there’s no need to do anything. After all, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

There are consequences to doing nothing and staying in denial; the consequences of not fixing our ‘democracy’ are more polarization, gridlock, corruption and more visible, widespread failures of other systems – energy, immigration, health care. The consequences of letting these systems go is not only the death of the ‘American Dream,’ but the literal and actual death of our standard of living and place in the world. It’s not just politics and usual, it’s decline and dissolution. But it doesn’t have to be this way.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Josh starred out the window listening to the old house creak and moan; then swung around and gazed into the computer screen. Moments later, his eyes closed and he fell into a deep trance.
It was then that the shimmering gateway materialized three feet in front of his desk. A voluptuous young woman stepped lightly through it; static electricity crackling in the air around her.
She sighed, letting the tension drain.
The solid wooden floor felt good beneath her bare feet. Would she ever get used to these trips? This one had been particularly difficult. The field was disturbed, almost violent.
A lingering "hissss" followed by an abrupt "zaappp!" signaled the gateway’s disintegration. She turned quickly to see if the sound had disturbed the one they'd sent her for. He remained motionless behind his fortress desk, staring into his computer screen.
Good. She smiled. That was how he was supposed to be.
“El professor Wilbeth is truly Azul. One of us,” she whispered. “I would have come eventually. But the fear, that cry from his heart. I could not wait.”
Still tense, she peered around the dimly lit room, took a deep breath to relax, but gagged on the lingering scent of ozone from the gateway. Three of the study's walls were lined with shelves, each crammed with books and objects. Turning toward the nearest -- her light sun dress swirling in an elegant arc -- she began to tour the artifacts of the man's mind.
An unearthly light radiated from deep within her. Passing through her ripe copper-colored flesh, it encased her in a ball of faint illumination so that she glowed as she moved, like a firefly drifting through a summer twilight.
She paused before the worn, rough-edged Aztec sword. Her eyes widened and the glow flared. She touched its cold blade and the glow flared brighter. Grasping the hilt with both hands, she lifted the sword from the shelf, turned slightly and thrust the weapon straight out in front of her.
The glow leapt from her arms and flared around the sword casting wild shadows across the shelves. Then eyes closed, she turned inward to sense the blade’s history and its connection to him who'd placed it there.
The glow subsided. She moved on, stopping to handle a clay Inca fertility figure, a fierce Japanese Kabuki mask, a brightly colored native American Kachina doll, and a smooth, greenish-white human skull.
The skull gave off strong vibrations and left a dry chalky residue on her fingers. Died violently. Immense power. A female. Roja. Four hundred years old. Imminent danger.
The young woman shuddered. Her suspicions were confirmed. There was danger. Perhaps that was why the field had been so violent.
She shuddered again, returned the skull to the shelf and walked to the massive desk. Stepping into the pool of lamp light surrounding it, close enough for him to feel her body's warmth and smell its musky fragrance, she lifted his trance.
He shifted and blinked.
"Welcome. Please sit down."
His twitching nostrils seemed to be reaching out for her warm scent.
She sat in the chair Paul Holcomb had occupied only moments before. The glow intensified around her.
"You've come about the Dream Group?" Josh asked.
She nodded.
"Our Group is quite well known among scientists studying sleep phenomena, both here and around the world." He smiled.
She returned his smile. They had told her it would be a pleasure working with him and they were correct. He responded to her scent, saw the glow, but said nothing. He was strong indeed. How the unslaked curiosity added to the sparkle in his greenish-brown eyes!
She looked from his face to his body. He responded with a self conscious brush of his full, slightly graying mustache and a glance over his shoulder to the diplomas on the wall.
Excellent, she thought. He wants my approval. That would make things much easier.
He crossed his legs with an easy movement that showed the strength of his fit two hundred pound body.
Yes. Quite a man. And proud, too.
Josh leaned forward and inhaled.
Bien. Breathe me in. Her eyes returned to his face.
Josh exhaled. "The best way to learn about the Dream Group and the science of dream research, is to participate yourself."
She leaned closer and saw her youthful face reflected in his eyes.
"During weekly meetings, we share more than dreams. We share intimate thoughts and feelings. We have to trust each other to do that. You'll have to keep whatever you hear confidential."
She inclined her head.
"Dream work is like detective work. The clues come from both waking and sleeping. We weave them into a web-like fabric and interpret by slipping it on, matching the fit to subsequent dreams and waking experiences."
He paused and looked into her eyes.
She stared back levelly, full lips touching.
Yes, Doctor. I understand, but do you?
Looking deeply into him, she held his eyes a beat longer. No. It seemed not. That was why his spirit, not his mind, had cried out to her. He was not yet sure. Not quite ready.
Very well. We shall pretend a little longer. The situation was grave, but could be dealt with well enough once he was prepared.
She smiled, giving the encouragement he sought.
Josh leaned closer to her, eyes sparkling.
"The web-like themes actively involve us with spiritual forces,” he said. “We learn to use them and let them use us. Waking and dreaming blur. Our lives become like scenes from half finished stories -- no beginnings, no endings. Only themes. Find the themes as you listen to our stories. They bridge dreaming and waking, spiritual and mundane. They are the gossamer strands that anchor the Web of Life.”
He leaned back in his chair.
"I've talked too much, haven't I?"
"No. Thank you for explaining."
"There's a Group meeting tonight, at the University."
She shook her head.
"Too bad. The Group is vital. They make the understanding, growth and synergy possible. We've got some characters, though."
"I may already know one or two. Another time, perhaps."
"O.K. Next best is to meet individually. One-on-one interviews. Like ours. And please, when you meet, remember to listen for the themes. Let's start with Paul Holcomb."
"Good. It is time I communicated more directly with him. Thank you, Joshua.”
She smiled softly into his eyes. "You've done well. I am grateful, very grateful. It has been an excellent first visit."
He smiled. Then leaned toward her, head cocked to one side as if trying to recall something. She sighed. Whatever it was, it would have to wait. She'd already summoned the gate. Trance induction had begun.
"I must leave you now. . . ." Her voice trailed off.
Josh blinked as the familiar drowsy sensation floated into him on the warm fragrance of her body.
She was all right. He’d be able to rely on her.
His head lolled, eye lids fluttered.
It would be good not to have to bear the whole burden alone.
Sighing, feeling as if they'd just accomplished a difficult task and were ready for a well-deserved rest, he let his head sink to his chest.
As his consciousness ebbed away, he saw her aura flare and heard her say, "Thank you for inviting me, my dear Doctor. We have much work ahead. But rest awhile longer. We will meet again very soon, when you are prepared, in the skies over Mexico. . . ."