Thursday, March 20, 2008

Mystery of the Waters (by: D.L. Siluk)

Mystery of the Waters
(After the Visit to the Moon)



When we had left the moon, I was told hastily (as if time was of the essence), to look into the waters of the earth, now finding myself with five angels, on the edge of a cloud, and I saw deep into the seas heart, a vision, within this dream, and Micha’el said:
“Examine and observe what the waters show you, focus, as the waters fill the earth, the waters have their own story to tell, and he was correct, and I looked deep into the oceans, from above the clouds, through the due, deep under the waters, to the floor of the ocean (listened and observed), I was at the ultimate depth of the earth, from one end to the other, under the deep ice of the poles, and its waters: and I was brought back in time by the waters to the pre-flood period, perhaps around 9600 to 3600 BC, or more or less (there had been I realized several great floods in the past, one around 9600 BC, another about 3600 BC, and the last about 1300 BC).
This mist I had noticed, was more like a canopy of water, covering the whole of the earth, and it seemed to make the earthly temperature quite uniform, and the land masses were different, the continents were not as they are today, there seemed to be more water than land, and the land that was above the waters were shallower around each continent’s rim, to where often one might walk into the ocean a mile or several right onto a causeway, to an island.
And I saw a great rainfall, something that was non-existent I believe before around 10,000 BC (except for those special flood periods in time), and under this vapor, this canopy of water in the form of mist lightly and gently dropped onto the surface of the earth, and it was green as green could be, most beautiful, but the flood kept coming back into my mind, both scenes ascending and descending one after the other.
I could now understand why a wide variety of animals and plant life could live; the air-pressure in the atmosphere gave more oxygen to the animals, and thus came a longer life; perhaps dinosaurs (although I did not see any).
Then I had a moment, a relapse moment from this odyssey, and found myself thinking about our ozone layer of today, it came to mind like a flash, for in those far-off days, such a canopy would shield man from the sun’s radiation, which hits the earth from space; all this could play a part in aging, a person or animal could double or tipple his lifespan.
But knowing the nature of human beings, such Godly gifts are over looked, and I sensed this one was, for the next vision was man’s deep rottenness, his depravity on earth in those days, it was a demoralized time in the earth’s history (and the earth and the waters confirmed this for me).
Then I heard the rains, and saw the earth crack open its underground seas poured out and up its waters, and the canopy dropped all its water from above, onto the earth, and the grass, like pores, pushed all its waters upward to and through the earth’s crust to its surface, everything that held the waters at bay, like pillars under the earth, and above, disintegrated within this new unbelievable force of a storm.
And there were icy winds across the planet, atmospheric changes, blizzards, even the Polar Regions melted to add their waters into this great earthy flood. It was as if the earth and the waters had joined forces willingly with God—for revenge on humanity. All waters now covered the earth. And yes, the waters of the earth told me, and showed me all this.
And Micha’el said, “In those days, God warned the people; he told them ‘I will blot out man whom I have created…for I am sorry I have made them.’”
And so I saw this day, in this dream-vision, the world that once was, and thought, perhaps we are coming close to such a destructive day again.


Written as a supplement for the story “The Cadaverous Journey” to be added right after the visit to the edge of the moon. 3-20-2008, 7:54 PM.

Sebire's Cry (a poem with a commentary)

Sebire’s Cry


You’ve let me cry, and cry and cry!
Now let me simply die, let me die!
No coma please, no more appeals
just help me die, with suicide…!
My plight in life is over, long gone!
The French president, please try
to understand, but all he says
is: get a new examination, options!
His help is nil, and rudely artificial.
Just let me die, let me die in Dijon—
so I can have the last words
to this eating cancer of: bone, flesh
and nerve—the last words to this
unending, vicious, vicious curse.
Hasten my death before I have
to take it upon myself…
Tell the Associated Press of my
deformations, and let me rest
let me rest, let me rest, the pain is
too, way too much, way too much!
Let me die, you’ve left me cry, and
cry and cry…!

#2331 (3-20-2008)


France, a 52-year old woman has just killed herself, Chantal Sebire, commuted suicide, suffered from a rare form of cancer: Esthesioneuroblastoma. I don’t make the rules of society, I just look at its pain and suffering, not sure if I’d like to live like that, death would at such a juncture, have less a sting, than to endure what she had to. One has to look at their beliefs, their church, government, and ask the question, as she surely did: do I dare to have these folks accept this suicide as just? And she did ask of course. Perhaps it is just, and perhaps it is not, whatever, I think God will forgive her for tacking her life (it is not the unpardonable sin); I know I would, and I don’t firmly believe in such things (yet man has chosen to induce comas in such cases, and so forth, they have justified that). It is a funny thing, we kill Whales, and Elephants, and Kangaroos, dogs and cats, and all sorts of things, war upon war (and torturing people to death), and we have a big moral question about killing a fifty-two year old woman who has been suffering with a server case of cancer; painful for seven and a half years (and to my understanding, no pain reducing substance could take the pain away), it is almost laughable. We are so much the hypocrite, what a bubble to live in but I guess we chose to.

Tuesday, March 18, 2008

Parts of the Dead Souls (in poetic prose)

The Arrival
(And the three part soul)

(Poetic Prose)


Inside the mountain of Dead Souls, I saw a man come out of nowhere, I looked at
Micha’el and he said:”He is a new arrival here, if you listen carefully you can hear his soul, and I did:


“It looks more like a hive in here, this place would make the devil weep; no breakfast or lunch I suppose, in this land of the dead, gloomy Sundays ahead, everything vaguely lit, soul eating human rats nibbling on one another, faces like ceramic masks…” (he braces himself, no one reacts, he mumbles out loud again), “I feel like an agitated centipede.” This is his first day, his first appearance—he is a new arrival, to this land of the pre-dead, and will be waiting in a pre-trial status; the Archangel Micha’el, told me this. The Arrival whispers “…the dead-end land,” but I suppose he’ll have to deal with it now, he dealt the cards did he not.

I hear the souls of others saying (as they watch this new arrival) “Toro! Toro! Bravo! Bravo!” with a whiff of delight; I think they like seeing others join them in this horror of a nightmare place.

(His Soul Talks :) His soul is telling me (the new arrival): he was not as wretched as the others, that he is being treated unfairly; by superiors (the soul sees Micha’el).

(His soul seems to have three parts to it: the pure spirit, the personal soul, and the false arbitrator, and it is the false arbitrator I am listening to, so I sense, so my intuition tells me, that he is immortal, and can renew itself through destruction; the personal soul, sad to say he is questionable always has been, lives through the development of thoughts and dreams, he has asked: ‘Is God really God,’ and now he says ‘Is this reality or a dream or what?’ hoping I suppose he will wake up, and it would have been a dram. I since in time, upon judgment all will fade but the Arbitrator, unless judgment rules otherwise).

The Personal Soul: I can use a stiff whisky
The Pure Spirit: did you forget the many times you knocked her into the gutter, and slammed her into the door? The drugs, the anger, the sourness of your heart, the dirty sex, the thief inside of you, here there need not be any more pretenses.
The False Arbitrator: God wants a virgin target, and I am it, like Japan who sought peace through Sweden (during the end days of WWII) prior to the atomic bomb being trapped on them by the Americans, but felt Japan did not deserve to get away with all the blood they shed scot-free—and dropped the bomb anyway, they—like God, wanted death—revenge.”

I am glad I am a simple man, for should I have read all these souls, I would have gone mad.

I shifted my mind, and tried to refocus my thoughts away from this newly arrival (onto the next part of the journey); I figured, I could not figure him out, perhaps he was still living in deception, or perchance, did I learn, as long as their are words to talk with, there will be lies to deal with, and a part of him, part of his soul was still in that charade, or make-believe world.

Note: “The Arrival;” written in the afternoon of 3-18-2007, at Starbucks (Benavides, Surco), Lima, Peru. Somewhat inspired by WSB-Last words. The book up to this point has taken five days (5-days) to write. Theology mixed with Mythology.

Friday, March 14, 2008

The Cadaverous Journey (To the Dead and the Dying)

Preliminary Part of the Journey
(Notes and Dream)


In the Heavens (cosmos)


It was the middle of the night, I awoke, and there was a great figure, five of them at the end of my bed, and one said, “You must come with me, but first you must die, and I will bring you back to life.” Oh, but I thought this was all a dream, so I said “Ok,” and somehow I died, it was like a second dream, that is, a dream within a dream you might say, and perhaps I really did die, I don’t know, I never died before, but after the experience is seemed a simple matter of waking up, and I did, but into another dream you might say, a journey, and so I don’t know what to tell you, but here I s. I suppose it is a matter of if you (in this case me) wake up for the dream, you have died in, and of course I am writing this, so I did. And so this story you are about to read, is just that, a journey from my book of the dead, by the dying. I will try to write it as true as it can be.
Let me add, in the 1980s, I wrote a book called “The Last Trumpet and the Woodbridge Demon,” out of fiftey-visions I had concerning future times. The visions came in a seven month period, and I wrote them down, and tried to explain them, for all up to this date have come true. I will not this time, try to explain anything, it is two exhausting, and I am twenty-five years older.


The Angels


There were five angels that appeared, and I shall name them, according to how I understood their names to be, and to the correct spelling I think it might be 1) Micha’el (everyone likes him) 2) Ura’el (another archangel) 3) Uri’el (not sure what his status is, but he is a messenger nonetheless 4) Rufael and Raguel. (My aunt, once told my mother, “Why does Dennis get all the visions,” I being at the time, the worse of sinners, and then trying, or in search of God’s heart. Who can have such an answer, so I said nothing, as I shall say nothing this time), and Surr’el (my guardian Angel was there, but more in spirit than presence, his voice his images).

(Raguel) As we started my journey, and Raguel said to me, “Heaven burns, look in the direction of the west,” and I saw a huge aluminous fire, that seemed to have no rest.
(Ura’el) “I will take you soon to the ‘Prison House of Angles,’ said Ura’el, “where on is detained forever.” And I looked his way, said not a word.

((Rufael) (Inside the Mountain, for the Souls of the Dead)) Inside this great huge mountain, perhaps one fifth the size of our moon, we stood in the middle of it, it was deep, high inside, smooth, dark, yet I could see all, and everything, Rufael was to my right side, pointed to all four corners, at once, explained “The spirits of he dead are assembled in here, gathered here,” he repeated himself, “for the day, the of the Great Judgment.” And I could hear the echoes of many voices, as if they were trying to reach heaven, from all four sections, corners of the inner mountain.
I asked, “Please explain more clearly the reasoning for this?”
“For the sinners,” he said, adding, “upon death. Judgment, the Great Judgment, is not executed immediately for their lifetime of sinfulness (I realized I had once read there was 72-deaths, thus perhaps judgments were based on this but I didn’t ask, and he did imply death at this point, not life); then he went on to say, “…sinners and criminals will remain, here with their kind, and those who go well with, the judgment (s), yet are of the non-righteous, remain in the other corners, these souls will not be killed on the day of judgment, but shall not rise to heaven either; those who admit their destruction, and were killed in the process by others before their time perhaps, a make dispute.”

(Notes: I wondered at this point, if I could wake myself up from this dream, I have in the past, but I couldn’t, I was like in a bubble, and my second thought, would I remember all this, and Micha’el nodded his, ‘yes’.)

(Uri’el) Uri’el pointed now at the “Prison House of Angels,” seven stars were bound together, as if in a cluster, how far I was from it I don’t know, but it was perhaps likened to our satellites orbiting the earth, however close that might be. The stars looked more like mountains carved into pyramids like figures, burning wildly, and Uri’el spoke: “This is the place mentioned before, the ‘Prison House for Angels,’ those that have sinned, went against the commandments of the Lord, and here they remain for ten-million years, according to their number of sins.”




The Great Canyon of Pain

Satan after his demise


(Uri’el) Then we came to a great fire, a canyon of sorts, that extended from sea to sea, and great rods of fire forced it way to and fro, burning with flames consuming all, it poured like lava and Uri’el said, “Here is the canyon of Pain.” And I was scared, freighted it might reach us, but it didn’t (Note: I told myself, this is a dream, how can this heat reach me, yet I felt it, but it did not burn, and turn to pain, and I caught my breath, I wasn’t exactly sure at this point were we were).
Said Uri’el, now looking at me, face to face, shoulder to shoulder: “We are in the Prison House of Angels, whom will be detained here without end!”

(Angelic Renegades) We then came upon the images of angels, their spirits; these were the ones of old, the Old Ones, as foretold in ancient literature, so I knew immediately. Those who were allied the Watchers, and slept with women, cohabitated, and taught man to sacrifice to demons (and I was told within my mind’s eye, the women that were persuaded, they have been cursed, thus, will have a peaceful death and afterlife.) And I said, “I don’t quite understand.” And Uri’el said in plain words,
“Heaven is heaven, as is blood and flesh which must die and perish, blood and flesh, and when one has abandoned heaven, and its ways, and seep with women, defile themselves, can not possess eternal life, and they begotten children, giants of old, deformed, these are evil spirits, that have come out of their bodies, for they were at once created by the holy ones, the watchers, their first origin, spiritual foundation. Thus they will walk the earth, and be called such, for if you are born upon the earth, you remain, they eat no food, nor thirst, and they shall challenge the people of the earth until the last days, when comes the slaughter and destruction.”
And I saw many faces, and asked, “Who were they?”
And before me came the faces of Azaz’el (condemned for teaching corruptness.
And Micha’el brought forth Semyaz who fornicated with the women, and said,
“He has died together with them, and sleeps in their defilement.”

(Notes: and I thought in my head, and Micha’el made it clear, souls of pleasure, were the children of the Watchers, and this sin of injustice has to do with, heaven is in itself the reward of pleasure or immediately gratification, and sexual intercourse on earth was mans pleasure, and holly angels could not mix these.)

(Judgment of the Watchers: Micha’el) And the son of Lamech was brought before me, as an image, and his history was, of the same, a Watcher before the Great Deluge, flood in the time of Noah, and he hid from God, but was destroyed. And Azaz’el was bound and thrown into darkness, and Duda’el was buried under sharp rocks, unmovable—and I learned in those far off days came many judgments unto the Watchers.
(Teaching of the Arts) Amastras’ taught incantations, and the cutting of roots; Baraqiyal taught astrology with Tam’el, and Asder’el taught the course of the moon, and Azaz’el taught how to make swords and knives, shields.

The Blessed Tree

Then I came upon several beautiful mountains, and they appeared to be carved in the shape of a throne, surrounded by fragrant trees, and I was shaking my head, as if to get out of this dream, almost fearful, but it was a wondrous sight, and fragrance, and all those huge beings bowed, and I flowed suite (I matched what they did); and there were followers everywhere, and the tree that caught my eyes the most was a beautiful tree and very fruitful, and it looked like a palm tree, and I just gazed at it, and Micha’el appeared (seemingly the chief of he group) smiled and said (for he had left but a moment, how long the moment was I don’t know, but it seemed to me he perhaps went to get permission, or at least that is how I saw it at the time, with my earthly thinking), said Micha’el:
“The mountains are God’s throne, where resides he Eternal King (Christ), and he is the one whom has visited the earth. The tree cannot be touched until after the judgment, the conclusion period, and close the books once and for all (only the righteous and pious he old me would be able to touch it); at this time he also told me the fragrance will penetrate one’s bones.


(Jerusalem) Then we flew over a city, it was Jerusalem, the old city of Salem, of which the high king, Melchizedik once brought bread and wine to Abram. Here under a mountain I saw a holy stream, it was flowing, then another mountain and a valley, here ran the stream towards the west, then a smaller mountain appeared and another valley, dry and deep, with hard rocks and no trees, and it was all such a marvel.



Notes (and Interlude #2):




First Origins

(Notes: during this process of watching and seeing, and asking questions, I had a moment of time to seriously think of what is called “First Origins,” and related it back to my studies in Philosophy, Psychology and Theology. I guess what I saw is modern natural philosophers look at the nature of reality, not qualified scientists by far, so they express themselves, as often I do in poetry, or on the metaphysical schemes of life. So was evolution involved in creation. Well, the cosmos are changeless, and all things are changing, and this journey helped me come to this understanding, and everything is meaningful and purposeful, so I feel, thus, there is a great chain of being, or life forms involved here. So I’d like to think, or substitute evolution for creation since scientists are limited, to only studying occurring objects and events in the present environment. I add this in here because Plato, or Aristotle contributed philosophy and nothing for the laboratory, and scientist I think will back me up, the Biblical criteria for God’s created universe is better than it happened human philosophy. )


Who were the Renegades?

(Also, before I go on with my dream journey, I’d like to address one other thing quickly, the Angelic Renegades: did they exist? In my Old Testament studies, at Liberty University in the 1980s, working on my Masters Degree, this was a most interesting subject. In spite of the complexity and vagueness, I concluded, at least for myself, the issue solved. In the Old Testament, they were called “Sons of God,” perhaps a tinge of a mythological sound to that, if not supernatural, but they were historical descendents of somebody, or they could be the daughters of men, also used. But it was plane to many in the fist century AD, after Christ what it meant. Even some theories say they were marriages between Cro-Magnon men and Neanderthal women, most unlikely. I see a clear line between divine beings and humans. History as recorded Gilgamesh, to be two thirds supernatural (or demonic) and one third human, as was Saint Christopher. So I do not find supernaturalism so far fetched. The Jewish and Christian writers have interpreted these beings to be also supernatural, educated men, with lots of PhD’s We should not look at this as mythology, but theology.
I have looked at two manuscripts, especially the Alexandrinus Codex (forth Century A.D.) And have written about them in poetic form in a few of my books, and the Septuagint, all confirming these were angels of God. But the most confirming piece of evidence I found was the Great historian Flavius Josephus, whom was Jewish, but worked with the Romans, to the dismay of his Jewish counterparts, along with all the church fathers of those far off days. It was not until the 5th century this theory was abandoned of the supernatural interpretation of Genesis.


The Journey and Dream
Continued



(The Latter Days) After we had left Jerusalem, I was taken on a trip that seemed to me to go from one end of the world to the other, and I saw many gates from the heavens open up and down came rain, and snow, and hail, and down came frost and mighty winds, and I saw violence and sorrow upon the earth, during this time. And then we changed directions, and we went instead of north, we went west, and I saw in time in the east, more destruction. And to the south, and again the winds and extreme weather conditions prevailed.

(Note: in 1998 and 2000, I had some dream-visions, I documented them, but not like I did in the 1980s, and made a book out of it, but what I say was the false prophet, and what I heard was the world would be under satanic influence, it was a two part vision: the message was: ‘The Beast, his army the antichrist, terrorism and war,’ this was before I believe Bin Laden was the number one criminal in the world. You need not believe me it is just something I found after eight years of this book sitting, and I read inside the book what I wrote, and put it in here. It is nothing we do not know; it just confirms with me, I’m on the right track. Actually right after I had those two visions, I wrote the outline of the book “The Manticore…” it was not properly edited at the time, and sorrow to say, it didn’t sell well, but it was the bases for the plot. I figured out the Secret of the Beast during these latter days, it being ‘even if you win, you lose, for there is more than plan, and maybe he wants to lose.)

But on this journey, all these things came to mind, and that Christ had told his followers above all, let no man deceive you. And as I looked down upon the earth, I saw many God-pretenders, for now there are many Christ pretending cults, such as the Mormons, and Jehovah Witnesses, in both cases I attended their services, and studies, and to include Armstrongism. There were on earth I saw them, many Jesus movements. I realized, since the time of Daniel and Nebuchadnezzar, these have been the times of the gentiles, for the most part. As we sailed across the a atmosphere I knew I really did not have to worry, I mean the destiny of the breast (the Army of Satan) and false prophet has already been determined, it is just a matter of how many will join him, in this millennium.

(End) It was hard at times to behold the faces of the angels, they were so holy and righteous, henceforth, I did, and then as I was about to say something, a whirlwind grabbed me, and I descended to earth, it carried me back to my bed, and into life I woke up.






The Ancestor before Time

Those who were sick in their hearts
(during the latter days)
made dwelling places for the elect ones,
those chosen by Satan; surrounded by his
ten-wings, created before time;
Lord of the Air, and to his followers
he demanded to be worship;
I saw him in a 1980s vision: pacing
like the Tiamat, among the clouds.


#2326 (8-15-2008)


The Angels Never Came Back
(In the Latter Days)

A ´poem

Imprudence could be found at all corners of the earth
During the latter days; no place for holy angels to rest
For wisdom went out with death, but death came back
It needed no rest, and thoughtlessness remained:
With the children of the people of earth; and in time
Wisdom tried to return, and settled among a few
Then came iniquity into every crack and crevice
And the angels moved out again, and man
Wondered if they’d return, for the few
That were left, they were the dew
And the thirst of these days,
But like rain in a desert,
They never came back.

#2325 ( 8-15-228)


Final Part of the Journey
(Notes and Dream)


Journey into the Deep (Hell)


((Surr’el) (the Long Chain)) When I had woken up, I saw in a vision the following events, perchance, the angelic beings did not prefer to show me these, personally but with an adjustment to my eyes, I saw what they wanted me to see: those locked in Sheol came forward, brought back to life, and voice was picking out the ones whom were holy from the dead (of one of the 72-deaths). I seen many souls wrapped in linen, walking with dark faces, or no faces, and among the risen dead, the Elect One, selected and saved, he sat on a throne and called their names. And the mountains and the hills moved when I talked, and the angels were present, and many glowed and smiled for they had known many of the dead (this was a secret vision I do expect).
I heard my name, it was Surr’el, he said he was he angel of peace, for now and then, that what was revealed to me was then, not now. And I sat as if in a honeycomb, and it seemed to be melting about me. And all the souls deep into a valley, a sea of people, sinners, facing the earth, and then came a long, very long chain, and Satan was the tied to the first link, And Azaz’el, to the second, and on and on, until they got to the demons, such as Agaliarept, Satan’s Henchman in Hell, other Demonic soldiers (Buer, one of the guards in hell, under his command) Gusoyn; the three Heated Dogs; Amduscias, the Grand Duke of Hell, Belphegor, the King of the Demons, Tyr the Mischievous; and the Nightmare Demon, and the lesser spirits.
And the chain was long and heavy, and the Angel of peace had prepared these chains and the smaller links were for the kings of the world, those destroyers of the earth and peace, and humankind.
And I put my hands over my head, trying to wipe away anymore visions, but nonetheless they came, and I saw: great judgment and disasters, feminine, tribulation and a deep valley. And there was fire in the valley, and many a soul was pushed into it, and the chain dragged many more into it. I saw Micha’el again, he was present, and Gabriel (and I told myself, “When will this day and night ever end!” Then I say a host, a horde more like it of Holy Angels marching, with an iron and bronze net, and they searched high and low, and those they found hiding and guilty, henceforth, to be reckoned with, they cast into the crevices of the abyss in the valley. And the valley got filled up with bodies, and the elite of the earth was shaken by what was happening, and just then, the earth shook, from end to end, and all could feel and hear the sound of this noise, and those whom did not want to bow, bowed anyhow.

Trying to Understand Nighmares



(The Nightmare Demon: see picture on front cover) There is such a think as called the Nightmare Demon, it is biblical, and there are charms, spells that can produce this. These demon, or spirits of evil, imps, looks similar to the picture on this book, which Clark A. Smith drew. Such spirits are foul, they and if you wake during their visit, often times one can become short of breath. A friend of mine, artist friend in Lima, has had many such visits, where he actually saw them; I have not experience this in that capacity, although I have seen demonic figures, and smelled their foulness. Anyhow, they have a heavy breath, and sit on your bed, if not your chest, and breathe this foulness into you, and I assume this creates a nightmare, so I have been told, and have had many in the past, I now simply pray to the Lord each night to rid me and my house of such imps. These creatures attack at night, and breath into your nostrils, causing horrible dreams, and if present can cause a paralyzes, although once dreaming the body automatically goes into a state of being frozen, this is different. Dreams in themselves are necessary, but nightmares are not.

(The Incubus) An example of such demon, might be, the Incubus, a male demon, ghostly sexual wanting intercourse, seeks out women in the night (different than the nightmare demon, but similar for he acts when she is sleeping), as proclaimed by giving birth to Mother Shipton, the prophetess, whose mother was said to have been visited by one, off and on, and the villages tried aimlessly to protect her, in the 15th Century, legend or Lore, or reality? It is for the reader to figure out, but do not be fooled and think everything one cannot explain is legend, and untruth. The word, Incubus, is Latin for Nightmare.

(Imps) When I imply imps, I perhaps shouldn’t, for they dwell mostly in the forest, but I used the word loosely I suppose to mean demonic small forces, lesser forces, or unfamiliar spirits.

(Diet, Psychology, Prophecy in Dreams) Nowadays, the scientists, and psychologists, and so forth, blame nightmares on the vagaries of diet, and that may very well be part of it. But there is more to it then food, I believe; perhaps one’s sins, occupation, various forms of stress. These dreams, bad dreams, nightmares can be blocked, either by prayer, or oneself, if trained to; we are not talking about avoidance, but possession, nor are we talking about prophecy. Psychologically we can use dream rehearsal and dream lucidity. Check with your professionals, as well as clergy for therapy, or learning more on this subject.

(Education vs. Theology and Psychology) I did much of my graduate studies in Theology, and undergraduate studies in Psychology, and doctorate studies in learning and education. So in the above information, I have used all but the educational part which I will now. Education is teaching, or edifying, cultural or learning. Many of my previous books are in Peruvian cultures. Other parts of my education were in sociology and philosophy, so you get in this book of course all of the above, and now the Educational part as I have already told you. Nightmares, can be a necessary medicine at times, they can present, openings, depending on whose nightmares you are receiving. They can be healing, from past emotional stress, and thus a release. And even at times warning, if present in a pattern; I kept getting a nightmare in Vietnam, of getting on a plane and crashing; I had the dream over and over and over. When I left Vietnam, I was talking to a stranger at the airport in Saigon, a man, now that I look back, talked a lot about Jesus, to the point he got me annoyed and I said, “Yaw, yaw,” got up to see how my plane was doing, and the man said, “We called that flight fifteen minutes ago, you missed it. The next flight was an hour later, I got on the plane, and when it landed I heard my original flight crashed just before reaching Japan. I never had the nightmare again.
So here was a behavior pattern, and an opportunity that I did not realized I needed to remedy, but some angelic being problem did. So in the process of learning, I’ve learned to take all into consideration. Be it psychology, theology, science, and faith. What is the sense having having these disciplines and not taking note of them, and using them? If you are asking, or telling, or saying at this moment, “You didn’t know, so it really didn’t help you,” you might be right, but it can help you.

Multiple Sclerosis (Perhaps a Help)

Multiple Sclerosis

Here is a mysterious disease, one that South America and most warm states in the United States do not have. It seems to belong to the colder more gray climates of the world. Now look at the article, and it may help you.

Keep walking, walking, walking, never stop, if you do, Multiple Sclerosis, will get caught up with you, and bye by, to walking, get the wheel chair my friend, it is the end to the end for walking. Get out of the cold and dimly lit environment you are in, and gray climates; get to the sun, where you get Vitamin D, sucked up into your body, like a hurricane (perhaps drink some milk); your immune system is nil you know, and it knows it…icky. Stop that stressful job, and your headaches may disappear, or your spine may become cured. Get rid of those who chant, you can’t. MS is many things, but few know how to care for it while it increases each day, unto months, and debilitates you to a puppet. For your numbness, take Glucosamine 500; and for your vision, and if you are dropping things try several natural enhancers. Find a doctor to give you calm down pills, perhaps, Alprazolam. If you are going to the bathroom, 16-times a day, see the doctor and ask why can’t have, Oxybutynin Chloride (5mg, should do). Amantadine can be used for your throat, for prevention (again see the doctor on this, do not take my word, and check it out). DHEA can help as a supplement for your strength; also, CQ10, can help; and for the spine pain, Naproxen (500 MG), well good luck, I’ve had it since 1996.
Systems are not always the same, we are not inbreeding humans, we are a diverse species, and therefore, we can not predict exactly what will work for each individual. And MS is a new, fairly new disease, and many doctors do not know much about it, just putting it on the table as a neurological and often soon, a debilitating disease. So if one doctor discourages you, fire him, and find another you can work with. Some like to play God; matter of fact, pray, that may help more than all the other advice I just gave you.

Sunday, March 2, 2008

Yoreth, the Twenty-seventh Demigod ((reading his Tablets)(poetic prose))

Poem of the:
The Twenty-Seventh Demigod,
Yoreth

(Yoreth,
The Plato of Hell’s Shallow Waters)

He called his assemblage, unveiled his plan
To the seven-two names, that sat in a circle whom
Were to rule the worlds, with various qualities
And redundant plans, under a hypothesis that
That was taking too long…

He lectured, and preached,
on the table of archangels, whom to feared, that
watched over the worlds, and wrote down their names,
as commonly written, on tablets for his assemblage—

He said, Micha’el also goes by the name of Lelah,
Elsewhere, that is, so where you are assigned,
Beware, this information I’m about to give, for it
Comes under the hard research of Vau, which
He seized from the 6th, Sophiroth (spirit of beauty
And evil).

I beckon you to you all, during your trials and
Adventures, missions and all, to use black magic as
Often as possible, make much use of it, it is all related to
The order of demons, and spells to the order of
Angels and evil spirits, as well…
The arch devil Belphegor has cursed us if we don’t.
He has his legions of demons standing by, but
Fears the Arch Angel Michael his army (the Malachim).

And so today, it is my task to try and translate
Hebrew symbols into readable English
I have handed out clay tablets to each of you, to help,
and believe me tt is almost a hopeless task, however
I am the Plato of Hell’s Shallow Waters, and have
Twenty-four PhD’s, and thus, I have created these
Language tablets, lost once to mankind, now found and
Translated by me, so make sure you pronounce the words correctly, due to the fact, Aramaic was its earlier language
Of Palestine, written before the birth of Christ.

To each of you, my students, I give the Talmud, and
Of the old scrolls of the Scripture; hence, we
Shall look at the verities that existed once in the Bible,
Until translates came into being.
You will see, and witness in the Bible, and my
Tablets, ‘signs’ (astrologers) assume the signs to mean
Certain things, and this of course was taught
To me by one of the Great Watchers’, of
Prehistory, an arch angel, one of the two-hundred
Azaz’el, to watch over man, and decided to cohabitate
With woman, review Genesis 6, when you got time.

Vaho, the 49th student, stood up, said:
“The tablets submitted in this lecture, are of great
Assistance, now we will know in this world, what we are
Dealing with; this archetypal world, of a vast universe;
world of materialisms. I see in this tablet you gave,
Something that reads ‘destruction of the soul’
Which I assume is our goal?”

You are quite right Vaho, we can call it pure spirits or
The soul or sprits, or the plastic mediator—call it what
You will, but I do not use the word destruction,
Because the soul cannot be destroyed, that is why
I am giving this lecture, so you do not go off on
Some half hazard adventure. These tables
Is a mystery to the entire universe, but me?
And those Old Ones who write them.

Let me explain Vaho, the soul is immortal
By renewal of itself, even through destruction of its forms;
And so while the prey lives, you must bury the soul,
We have done this to a certain degree by presenting
Evolution as an idea, and thus this has produced
Forgetfulness without destruction, buried the soul alive,
Sort of speaking: the human flesh, the body is
The shell, the veil, like a shroud, do you understand
(Vaho nodded his head yes, still standing).

From the graces of God, proceeds the great angel Micha’el
The good angel of the soul; but you and I are of course
Uninfluenced by the good aspirations of this spirit, as is
Samael the evil spirit, the one next to you (Samael, is an
Angelic being, he laughs).

Thus, we see good and evil on the table of thoughts
Do we not? (Yeli, stands up, the 2nd in the assemblage)
“Yes, Maestro…” he yelps aloud so all can hear.
Is it not true Yeli, that God allows us to carry on to
See if His so called pure emanations: to the worlds
Can deteriorate after those whom are given his
Radioactive light, if we can produce decay in those
Grabbing on to it? “Yes indeed (says Yeli), that is God’s
Plan, weed out the decay before it gets into heaven.”

So with this in mind, you should know that humans
Have wisdom, intelligence, love and justice
Circulating in their minds; what else do they have–?
Haa (26th name in the assemblage) stood up to answer:

“Maestro, there is, according to this tablet,
Beauty in their minds, and firmness in their souls,
and splendor, and righteousness, greed and materialism.”

Student Haa, do you understand these words?
“I think so,” said Haa.

So you are not sure? Some are similar to others. For each
World you go to, different worlds have different terms, as
Did different times, and different location on earth, term righteousness differently, earth is a material world.

As you read these Hebrew tablets, some I see are reading them
Wrong, why have you not asked me how to read them?
This is a question to all?

Sit, 3rd in the assemblage, stood up, said, “Is it not
Because of pride, we do not want to look bad in front of you?”

Oh yes, yes indeed, you will be a help to your missions.
You read Hebrew from right to left, thus, just the
Reverse of English. Number one starts at the right hand side.
And if we supply the vowels, we secure the names of the enemy;
Those angelic beings watching over the cities of the world;
We must remember the names you come out with are
Aligned to the four heavens on the other side of the tablet,
These names go back to the days of the creation of the earth.

Note: and so it was, at the assemblage, all were—thereafter, assigned their missions,
duties, and locations, on earth, and elsewhere.



#2308 3-2-2008

Faith and Logic

(Logic vs. Faith) We talk of faith as if it is abstract, an intrinsic spirit that has to bite you before it becomes real, subjective (and when you get the blessing from the faith you don’t have, but wish you had, and the echo hits God’s ears, then we call it by-chance, for nothing else could have produced it). Faith, its roots are belief, trust, very simple roots, but if you hate God, pride will stop the faith from entering the soul, and what do you have left, a Jaw bone from Darwin’s theory; logic has much more to deal with, in the race of thought (or thinking and deduction). The question may come up in this prose work, is God to be understood logically or by faith? If you saw Jesus, whom the Christians call God incarnate, would you say “This is not logical?” So therefore it is not, and is simply an illusion, for some reason, my mind must be taxed? In reality, I don’t know what the other man would say, but I know what I would say “It is Jesus, because I saw him,” and therefore logical or not, it is (we may have to look at whose logical concepts are we dealing with also, Plato’s or Aristotle’s? (or my own)—they did not think the same you know, so who was right?). And no one can tell me otherwise.” All the scientists out there don’t read this, it will just spoil your breakfast or lunch, go back to the moon. But is there a moon (maybe he can’t go back there, he only saw it), maybe it is not, but we’ve been there right? Or at least someone has, maybe it is not so, just a lie, on top of a created illusion (like Darwin’s Fairy Tale, no one ever saw an ape man; we saw a Jaw from the Heidelberg Man, and a few more fragments from the Java woman, and now we got a human ape running around a million years ago, sent by Darwin via, his theory, is this logical? It takes a lot more faith to believe in this, than God.) Anyhow, the moon, perhaps we saw, special effects as they call it. Anyhow, I will take it by faith that man has been on the moon, for I can’t see any real concrete logic here.

Now what is logic and faith have to do with the moon? I believe because I saw it on TV, and in the magazines, man landing on the moon in 1969, sat in a bar in San Francisco, but I saw Jesus also, on TV and in the magazines also, and in some visions, and I see the moon in the sky so it is as seeing Jesus in the person also, so I have three equal elements here, actually Jesus has one up. What is logistical here? We shall look at that in a moment, we can call it reasoning out, in what we are doing now, or common sense (which is not all that common nowadays, which is seeing might be believing), or it can be judgment, and that we have to hope is correct, and it does not mean judgment by science, although scientist would claim I think it should be. Logic to me is perhaps closer to ‘What else could it be?” Most folks who study the cosmos come to the conclusion, there has to be a God (I read that someplace, but it makes sense in that, we cannot conceive a beginning, only an end).

(Did Jesus exist?) More evidence out there says He did, and it’s been out there a very long time, perhaps more than believing in a Davy Crockett, or Daniel Boon, or a Muhammad or a George Washington. We have only paintings of these folks (and some written documents), like Jesus, in a way, but his has more worldwide expectance, more pictures, is known in more countries, and the New Testament of the Bible was written because of Him. Christmas was created because of Him, and BC and AD was created because of him, until some goofball change it, must had been an angry believer who did not get his way with God. Anyhow, point of fact, Jesus is more known than any of these fellows, yet, he is more in question of His existence, this is not logical to me. But we believe our historians would not make them up, so we have faith in them, we believe them, we trust them (or do we, and perhaps we are in a bubble). But I like Davy Crockett, although I think, and could most likely prove, a lot of what they say he did (or he said he did in his book), is not up to the full truth (and I never ever even say Davy in a vision yet).

(Logic and Reason) When we talk philosophy, we are talking about logic or reasoning, are we not? Plato, Socrates, and Aristotle, and their kind, argued on what was and what was not, or appeared not to be, but should be because it is. Socrates was killed because he made what he thought was a logical determination, that there was only one God, not many, Athens did not like it. He put logic and faith into one bag. Prior to this we had a whole lot of gods in one bag doing nothing, all based on faith, no logic; I’ve found out in life what seems right today, ten years down the road, it becomes to the contrary, and so at best, I got to say we bend logic in each age as did the Athenians, as we bend the bible, or Karen today, or the Talmud, to suite the reasoning we want to come out at the other end, and those who go against it, go against the: church, mosque, or synagogue, are outcasts, whom really are observers, and should be treated as such.

(Examples) Is it right to kill whales, so we can have whale stews, or steak? Or to kill Elephants because there are too many in a park, and people want ivory? Debates are often won by who buys the biggest dinner, it all sounds logical to be a big receiver. It is all in who is the interpreter, especially if it involves self-interest. If anyone knew this, it was Socrates. Philosophy is perhaps the only discipline, if you can call it that, which has not advanced much in comparisons to psychology, anthropology, sociology, and all the rest of the zoologies and methods we use to understand the world of man.

I don’t wish to be the logic–chopper today, but take all these theories, and theorems and disputations and throw them into the wind, renew the encrypted, and nuclease mind, the first step, to expurgation the overlapping pretense, and self-interest, now common sense can flow (which was not common a moment ago, with faith).

(Conclusion) In the process of reasoning out whatever you are reasoning out, use some faith with it, it is better to believe in something believable, even if it does not hold the logic the professor prefers you have—why? First, because to you it is believable, second is there a reason not to believe it, I mean, did the believer, the one you believe in do something to you to be put into second place, and thus, untrustworthy? If not believe—why? Here we go again, because it is healthier to do so. The reasoning here comes into play, when the person is not trustworthy, then if you believe in him, it is not faith you are working with, but gullibility (and you are blind, or it is more painful for you to jump out of denial).

(Going against the grain) Do not damn the sources of error, or make hurdles for folks to jump over them, some minds are weak, and need pictures and images to worship, a weak mind of faith is not domination, or the unpardonable sin, it is reality for the other person, habit you could say, and often mistaken for a thing (let’s hope it is not, a pray is better than a curse), but the error is not so unreasonable as to make it proceed above a human being. Let it sink, where it may, God will take it from there, He always does, contrary perhaps to the suspended universe, hovering above us, but I can live with that, if the mirrors can live with my face.


3-1-2008 (prose, #2307)

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

No More Slaves for the Serbs (Remembering Kosovo's Fight)

Kosovo’s Independence (2-26-2008)


More disruption with Bosnian Serbs, we have here, a mob of protesters that are giving humanity a clear message (that they are not able to confront issues with dialogue), actually they gave the citizens of Kosovo that same clear message not long ago, by the slaughtering of them, and now they want the world and the minds of the persecuted to welcome them into their little hornets nest, and to be ruled by them. If I was the Islamic Albanian in Kosovo, I’d dread being under the iron hand of these deadly souls. Look how they feel about their blessed Kosovo, can you imagine how they will feel once they get their hands on the throats of the citizens. I don’t blame the good citizens of Kosovo for wanting once and for all to rid themselves of the beasts across their boarder, God help me if I had to live under such a regime.
They wanted to kill everybody in the US Embassy there, because we stuck up for the weak side. These are real nice people to work with, just kidding of course, but I am so happy the Kosovo had the guts to stand up tall for liberty and freedom and honor, and I say that loud and clear. We have a right, like it or not, to stand up for whom we feel should be independent.
The Serbian capital, Belgrade, does not dictate to the world how they should act, or feel, when you can’t govern a country right, it is the duty of its citizens to set thing proper, not to live under the thrones of those who feel they have a right to rule over you, like a pack of snakes. Be it in Belgrade or Banja Luka, I’d not trust the government of Belgrade with my life, and if I had to be subject to them, I’d go to war I suppose, like Kosovo might, or has in the past to protect themselves from the wolves. I am proud of America, and the EU, those countries standing up for liberty. Spain, is as bad a Russia, and China (China holds a knife over the throat of Tibet, and would like Taiwan as a pet, so no wonder why they are in support of Belgrade’s policy; Spain is not much different, and Russia, well, what do you expect, they lost half their land because they were savages, and now fear they will lose a nasty little friend, one of the few left.

Monday, February 25, 2008

James Joyce and Ernest Hemingway: Who Helped them?

James Joyce and Ernest Hemingway:
Who helped them?


It has always interested me (perhaps because of my background in psychology), how men and women are made, from the days of youth, to the days of just prior to death. It is never because one man stood alone against all the odds in the world. It is because he took opportunity when it came by. He saw it, grabbed it, and thus, waited, or polished, or whatever it took he or she did, to make it to the next step, and so I just wanted to take a quick view of two famous writers, whom would not have been famous had they not done what I just said, or so I believe, and been at in the right place at the right time (and I think I can say, they went to the right place, hoping to find what they did find, as I did in 1968, when I went to San Francisco, against many odds, and wrote a book about it, called, “Romancing San Francisco”.

What made these two people I will bring to light in a moment, good writers? Somewhere, along the line, everyone gets a little help. James Joyce was a very bad writer, I have a few of his First Edition poem books, he wrote a few of them, they are not all that great either. But why was his book, number one throughout the 1930s, if he was not so hot? Some people have good skills and imagination, others have one or the other, and seldom do they have both. Joyce had a good imagination, but stunk on skills, if it wasn’t for Ezra Pound, James Joyce would never have made the grade. Ulysses, was gone over by Mr. Pound, and Joyce took all the information he was willing to give to heart, made his changes as needed: Joyce was not dumb, just not skilled, and thus he produced a best seller, he learned on the job; and the Dubliners, well, he kept what he learned and life went on.
As for Hemingway, he had help on three sides or four. One, it was F. Scott Fitzgerald who got the publishers to look at his stuff. Second, it was Shakespeare And Company that became his second home, and where he got his books to read, and study free. Third, he got Ezra Pound to take him under his wing, and teach him the art, as did Anderson take Hemingway under his wing, and introduced him to his publishers as well, and Stein, she introduced him to the writers and artist, and poets of Paris; in addition, he came from a pretty well off family, other than that, he was a reporter with a rough way of writing, that would not have sold a book, had he not taken advantage of what came his way. And yes, in time he turned out to be a fairly good writer, too much dialogue for me, yet I have most, if not all his books, first editions, so nonetheless, he was a good writer (some psychological problems in the head, but most writers got them, he just could not control them).

Saturday, February 23, 2008

MRSA and Aids: who are we allowed to blame? (The Green Monkey?)

MRSA and Aids: who are we allowed to blame?
The Green Monkey?


MRSA bacteria, otherwise known as methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus aureus MSRA spreads via surface-to-surface contact, symptoms can include pimple-like sores on the skin where the bacteria launch their attack. We already got the experts out there, saying it is a super bug disease, and not a gay disease, it did not take them long to blame it on the bug. Dave Mosher, Live Science Staff Writer, makes a joke out of the whole thing, as expected, he is most likely gay.

This is a hard subject, and issue for open minded adults, if it is too hard for your eyes to read, then don’t but it does exist; the seriousness of this issue will not fade into nothingness, and parents need to know this for their children, it can be contagious, if a person has this virus in their hands and you shake their hands, you might need to say some prayers, or quickly clean yourself with whatever it takes. Funny, I’m sixty years old, and when I was growing up, we never had such issues like this, worldwide, perhaps people were more considerate of others then.

It’s a shame, a shame, a shame; we avoid trying to blame Aids and MRSA on the Gays, when they are gay diseases created by them. The Gay community has done an outstanding job, hollering “Discrimination,” so they can carry on with their exposed diseases, blaming it on everyone but themselves (even the Green Monkey), and their style of living goes on unchallenged. It has killed more people than Aids I’ve heard recently, and it is now circulating the globe, and it started in my old stomping grounds (so it has been said), in San Francisco, Castro Street. I lived in that area back in 1968-69. Back then there were many gays, but they didn’t parade their way of life like peacocks, as they do nowadays, and blame everything on everybody else, but themselves; gays are transmitting this new disease, and with their filthy lifestyle, it doesn’t help; and everybody is afraid to call it what it is and put the blame on those who deserve it (no responsibility, no discipline, equals no limits: the gays like this).
It now is a growing problem for Peru, a year ago, no one heard of it (yet it dates bay a ways). This involves bacteria’s (19,000-lives in the USA have perished because of this bacteria).
In addition to gays, it also can be spread by those folks who make love in the rectum other than gays, that is where the bacteria comes from to my understanding.
If the gays could keep it in the family, and not spread it to the general population, I would not be writing this letter, but like most irresponsible kids, they can’t keep their hands out of the cookie jar, they got to spread it around.

CNN: In a startling admission, the head of a major homosexual activist group said HIV/AIDS is a "gay disease."

A new ad campaign out in Los Angeles claims that HIV is a Gay disease (The Gay and Lesbian Center)

Dead Skies over Kenya ((a poem)(and Commentary on Kenya's struggle for peace))

Dead Skies over Kenya
(2/2008)

Deep death, encircles the skies over Kenya
Whence even the lightening seems remote;
Here, the cities burn, with burning eyes
Ask now what hand will save the dawn.

#2285 2-23-2008

Note: In recent weeks, there has been much commotion, fighting, and loss of life in Kenya, and it seems, the United States, along with the United Nations, are for once in unison, with concern over this African nation, not like it was back in the early 90s, when the world ran away from the Uganda crisis, and almost a million lives were lost. All Kenyans seem to agree with one thing, change the constitution, that in itself is a problem, the two sides that are in opposition, are talking, it’s about time, and in one way or another, agree with that above statement. The popular demand seems to be, a better democratic governance in their nation, for it all started because of that very reason, if I recall right, over bad elections. So, better late than never, here are two poems on the subject, or issue of Kenya, as I see it. Even Condoleezza Rice, and the former U:N: secretary-general, Kofi Annan are trying to put out fires before they start back up there, as worthless as Annan has been in the past maybe he can do something good for mankind here in the present, if it is in his heart, that is (I hope so). There will be more mass protests in the near future, but let’s hope it remains at that, better than mass graves are dug, and in that part of the world, who can ever tell. Kenya was perhaps the most civilized, and well off country in Africa, until recently that is. So here is a little poem, for a big issue.

Jungle Treachery in Satipo (Now in, English and Spanish)

Jungle Treachery in Satipo
((Alevosía en la Selva de Satipo)
( Now in Spanish and English))


Note: a true story about an old man and his ongoing struggle with the invaders of his land in the jungle of Satipo!...

Jungle Treachery in Satipo

The old man had fifty acres in the Satipo jungles of Peru that was in 1985, when he came across invaders, squatters on his property. It wasn’t long before they started building structures on his land and assuming it to be their own—out of human greed—thus, they felt it was theirs for the taking (which is not uncommon in Peru).
The old man tried aimlessly with his brother, to talk the invaders out of their quest to take over his land, for the government was of little use, or for that matter, protection. If anything, they were for hire at a lesser amount than the value of the land, and thus, could be bought to look the other way for a few dollars. But old man Augusto with his machete met the invaders eyeball to eyeball, shoulder to shoulder, and started a war that cleaned his land of the invading cockroaches, as he called them.

—But it is not always as it seems, is it? for it was not long after, when more invaders appeared, but this time with more gusto, and more perseverance, and more solitude with their fellow invaders to steal the land from the old man. And this time the law of the jungle—the machete—would be of little use.
Instead of paying the old man $7,000-dollars for the land, they paid the Shinning Path, a terrorist group, $1500, to kill the old man, and be done with the whole mess, or insure he would never return.
Hence, it was twilight when they cornered the old man by his one room shack. There, they surrounded him like hungry piranha. They had guns, machetes, and twenty men; they were lighting torches to set his shack on fire, when he found a shadowy pathway that kept him from the sight of the terrorist, thus he walked in the shadow, slowly, until he found himself in the deep of the jungle ; and behind him, his shack in flames.

It was a long walk to the city called Huancayo (in the Mantaro Valley), where his family lived, but he walked it, mile after mile, for a week straight. Upon his arrival, he had found people were asking about him, people he did not know, thus he throw a sack of fruit over a donkey, and through the Andes he rode the donkey, to Lima, Peru. It was a most trying trip, yet he felt safer doing this than remain where he had been, and moved in with his daughter. It would be twenty-years before he’d return, and so he did in 2005, only to find the invaders now had legally protested the absence of the old man, branding him a deserter of his own land, leaving it to waste away, while they cared for it. Thus, the struggle would start again, but this time, his kids, son and daughters were of an age to where they could help him, and his wife, now dead for a few years, whom had tried to keep the land away from the invaders, had put in her will, a portion of the land for each of the several kids. Thus, making the land worth fighting for.

And so my readers, this saga that took place in the jungles of Satipo, is not over yet; but should it occur in my life time, I shall let you know. End

This story was writtn about three years ago, now the land is half sold, and a good portion is being built on. So the essence of the thing might be, try to work around it, with it, through it, whatever, but don't give up.



Spanish Version

Alevosía en la Selva de Satipo


Esta es la historia de un anciano que tenía veinte hectáreas de terreno en la ceja de selva de Perú, en Satipo. Fue en 1985 cuando él descubrió por casualidad a algunos invasores, ocupantes ilegales, en su propiedad. No había transcurrido mucho tiempo desde que ellos habían empezado a construir algunas paredes sobre su terreno, asumiendo esto como propio—por avaricia humana—así, ellos sentían que esto les pertenecía por la fuerza.

Al ver esto el anciano, con su hermano, trató inútilmente de hablar con los invasores para hacerles cambiar sus intenciones de apoderarse de su terreno, ya que las autoridades eran de poca ayuda, o en este caso, de poca protección. Por el contrario, ellos habían sido sobornados por una cantidad de dinero menor que el valor del terreno para hacerse de la vista gorda, y así, ellos no le prestaban atención a este problema. Pero el anciano Augusto con su machete y con la ayuda de su hermano se enfrentó a los invasores, ojo a ojo y empezó una guerra que limpió su terreno de las cucarachas invasoras, como él los llamaba.

Pero no siempre es lo que parece ¿verdad? Porque no pasó mucho tiempo cuando más invasores aparecieron; pero esta vez con mayor entusiasmo, más perseverancia y más solícitos con sus compañeros invasores para robar las tierras del anciano. Y esta vez la ley de la selva—el machete—sería de poca utilidad.

Los invasores, en vez de pagar al anciano siete mil dólares por el costo de su terreno, habían pagado a un grupo terrorista mil quinientos dólares para matar al anciano y, de esta manera, terminar con él, quien era un obstáculo para sus planes de invasión.

Es así que una tarde, en el crepúsculo, los terroristas llegaron a la propiedad del anciano y lo arrinconaron en uno de sus cuartos de su cabaña; allí, ellos los rodearon como pirañas hambrientas. Ellos tenían armas, machetes y eran veinte hombres; ellos, estaban encendiendo antorchas para prender fuego a la cabaña del anciano, pero él a través de un escape encontró un sendero sombrío que lo mantuvo escondido de la vista de los terroristas. Así es como él caminó en la sombra, despacio, hasta que se encontró en la selva; y, detrás de él, su cabaña ardía en llamas.

Era un camino largo desde Satipo hasta la ciudad de Huancayo, donde su familia vivía, pero él caminó este trayecto kilómetros tras kilómetros por una semana entera. A su llegada a Huancayo, él descubrió que había gente preguntando por él, personas que él no conocía. Así que él decidió tomar otro rumbo, él decidió ir a Lima, para lo cual él puso un saco de frutas sobre un burro y a través de Los Andes él cabalgó hacia su nuevo destino. Este fue un viaje muy largo y duro, pero el anciano era fuerte para su edad y además él se sentía más seguro que permanecer en Huancayo.

Pasarían veinte años antes de que él regresara a la Selva de Satipo y así él lo hizo, en el 2005, sólo para encontrar que los invasores ahora legalmente estaban en su propiedad porque habían denunciado su ausencia, tildándolo de desertor de su propio terreno, dejándolo esto para ser utilizado, y que ellos, mientras, se habían hecho cargo de estos.

Y así mis lectores, esta hazaña que tomó lugar en las selvas de Satipo todavía no ha terminado, pero si esto ocurre mientras esté vivo, se los contaré.

Nota: Esta es una historia verdadera sobre un anciano y su constante lucha contra los invasores de sus tierras en la selva de Satipo! …

Friday, February 22, 2008

The Complete Muhammad Letters (Poems inspiried)

The Muhammad Papers
(Year of the Elephant)

(Inspired, and Illustrated)

Twelve (XII) Poetic, Prophetic Letters found in a Cave in Medina, and now
Translated for the first time

Revelations from the Prophet Moss (634 AD)



By Three Time Poet Laureate, Ed. D.
Dennis L. Siluk

Awarded the National Prize of Peru, "Antena Regional": The best of 2006 for promoting culture (through his Poetry and Writings)
The Muhammad Papers
Dennis L. Siluk
Copyright©2008


Illustrated by the Author





Dennis L. Siluk, Ed. D
Poet Laureate




Haikus for Evil

No one goes, and
Does evil (or kills) in the Name of God;
That is Satan’s work.

#2276/2-17-2008


Muhammad, the Islamic Prophet was born in the “Year of the Elephant,”
And died at age of 62-years, of an illness, in the year 632 AD

In these few short poems; one may gather up the nature of Muhammad, perhaps better than another book, without any biases, they express his nature more than his deeds than anything else, and according to historical data.



Index

Haiku for Evil

The Prophet Moss
(From the Echoes of the archangels)

Letter #2 “From the Grave of Muhammad”
((Inspired by Raguel) (archangel))

Letter #3 “The Battle of Badr”
(A Revelation from the angel Uriel to Moss)

Letter #4 “the Coffin Makers”
(Revelation given to Moss from Michael)

Letter #5 the Prophet from the Orphan
(A Revelation from Gabriel to Moss)

Letter #6 “the Arrow & the Apple”
Inspired by Lucifer (undetected until now,
He was pretending to be, Raguel, who takes vengeance
For the world)

Letter #7 “the Underworld”
(Revealed by Saraqa’el the Archangel, Guide for Moss, while touring Heaven)

Letter #8 “Story of the Cranes"
(Inspired from the spirit voice of Rufael, the Archangel)

Letter #9 “Mecca’s Cry: the Year of Sorrow”
(As remembered from the mouth of Moss the Prophet)

Letter #10 “Pledge under the Tree”
(A Revelation from Muhammad Himself to Moss)

Letter #11 “Spirit of the Dark”
(Amduscias and the Trees of Hell)

Letter #1 “A Poetic Sketch on:
A´isha Bint Abu Bakr”
((Inspired by Sure’el (archangel of trembling)
(Wife of the Prophet))




Moss, the Great Prophet from Medina
634 AD


The Prophet Moss
(From the Echoes of the archangels)

Moss, a great prophet of his day,
stood between heaven and earth,
so it was is written, and saw
the emmence, and very pillars
of heaven, and saw the winds,
turn the course of the sun and
saw the stars as well, and they fell,
beneath the clouds, and the angels
held them up, and they were flaming
day and night, and a voice said,
prophet of the earth, listen: mark
down these words, keep them far
from the pit, and let not the foundation
under the waters of the earth,
listen, save, they steal these words
and make havoc with them.
Break down the pillars, tell the truth,
from the beginning, for it has now
turned into a mystery…I give you
revelations on earth’s number one
enemy! (Muhammad)

#2270/ 2-16-2008 (inspired 6:30 PM)
Letter: II


“Oh,” from the Grave of Muhammad

Inspired by Raguel (archangel)


“Oh!” Surprised by death
was—Muhammad?
He suffered from the anger and hate,
filaments he had inside his breast:
madness—; he lays now in his illness,
covered with sand…
his soul, in a washbasin.
His mouth calling “Oh!”
from the dead;
he was surprised
God did not let him into heaven.
Alas! Death came with no other
settlement!...

#2261/ 2-16-2008 (Revelation received, 3:00 PM)















Letter: III



The Battle of Badr

(A Revelation from the angel Uriel to Moss)


There will be blood in the sand tonight—
Like gravy over meat,
Dead bodies eating soil, vultures chewing
Hearts from corpuses’
Eyes plucked out, of their sockets, like
Candles in a twist—
And I see Muhammad hiding in a cave,
Safe, watching all this;
Yesterday, he walked tall, like a peacock,
Among men of the world;
Today, he’s evasive, hiding behind shadows,
Like a frightened little girl.


#2262/ 2-16-2008
















Letter: IV


The Coffin Makers





(Revelation given to Moss from Michael)


What Moss saw in the far off days?

We are Islam.
We are the coffin makers.
We are Death.
We hate Jews and Christians;
we pack them in carts
like potatoes.
The body fires like stars:
we use children,
women and the insane.
We are to them,
their savior.
We are the death makers.
We are Islam.
We have credentials.


#2263/2-16-2008



Letter V

The Prophet from the Orphan

(A Revelation from Gabriel to Moss)

He eats the heart of man
spits them out like fingernails—;
his followers threaten even the Pope
or any man, of speech, and freedom
if they do not listen, take head.
He was once an orphan,
now he’s Islam. Once a poor
broken tool, ornament, whom
decided to make a religion
decided to free a people
(from the bondage of many gods)—
then held them hostage,
corralled like hogs,
accountable; put his new world
under his heel, as they cried
in duress; thus, he simply said:
I am the word of God
(the prophet
from the Orphanage).

#2264/ 2-16-2007)











Letter VI


The Arrow & the Apple

Inspired by Lucifer (undetected until now,
He was pretending to be, Raguel, who takes vengeance
For the world)



Hell’s High Tower


And Raguel heard Satan whisper to Moss, as he was sitting on a mountain top, looking down upon the land (and here is what he wrote in his scriptures):

“You are a knife in my side Moss, I gave Muhammad messages
and you try to poison my words, the very words I gave to him;
give them lies, lies, big lies, small ones they detect, oh yes—yes,
they detect: big ones they never check. You are my infection! Yet
I must admit, I’ve been getting much attention out of this, those
letters you now write for posterity, will not be discovered until
the 21st Century.

What harm have I done you? None! Did I make you insane, as I have
a certain other prophet? No! Have I made your heart sour, as I’ve done to you know who? No! And here you climb to the roof of the city, to this mountain top, overlook it, and pray to God—my antagonist.

Muhammad is dead, under my wing, my pillow, under my stirrups. And you, I, give you all you wish, like I did for Muhammad, and this is what I get, ingratitude.” (And that was that.)


#2267/ 2-16-2008 (Muhammad was 62-years old when he died, in the year 632 AD)
VII

The Underworld

(Revealed by Saraqa’el the Archangel, Guide for Moss, while touring Heaven)

Belphegor, King of the
Demon


Moss, the Great Prophet of Medina, wonderer of the wastelands in 633 AD, wrote the following revelation, as he had ascended into the atmosphere:

“Birds turned into plums and apples; a wind swept me up into the heavens, I thought my body would turn into a corpse, I went so fast, hanging onto Saraqa’el, tightly on his back, I twisted and twirled, and almost lost my grip. Then the birds disappeared, and there I was. I was seventy-three years, at this time, and
this great archangel, my guide, introduced me to Adam, Abraham, Moses, and Jesus, and then I looked about for Muhammad, and then asked, ‘Where is this great, great, great man, prophet of God?’ And an angel by the name of Gabriel answered,’ I think he’s down yonder taking a nap.’ I hesitated to ask, where yonder was, in fear, Gabriel may think I was perplexing, and that just would not do. Then I asked again, and another angel answered, ‘I’ll tell you where yonder is, if you write me a poem?’ I paused to see if he was serious, and he diffidently was. I did not feel great by all means; a tinge of wine would have helped. Then I heard an echo, a deep, deep echo, that ascended from below, that other angel said, here is his voice, and I listened carefully, and it said: ‘Idiot prophet, I’m dead, will you take my place here in Saul…instead’ short for hell I think, ‘the devil’s got me by the tail, hurry up, make up your mind, I’m the great prophet of all time!’ I didn’t say a word, I just wanted to go back to earth, and see those birds.”

#2268/ 2-16-2008
Letter VIII


“Story of the Cranes"
(Inspired from the spirit voice of Rufael, the Archangel)


“Story of the Cranes"
(the Satanic Verse),
Muhammad’s involvement,
I lived through these times,
the account holds true,
that Muhammad pronounced
a verse, acknowledging the existence
of three Meccan goddesses
considered to be the daughters
of Allah—praising them he did,
and thereafter appealing for their
intercession. According to my
observations, Muhammad later
retracted his statements,
the verses, saying Gabriel
had instructed him to do so.
Just in time, I would guess?


Note: In the tenth century this was rejected as a false entry of his life, yet it stood the test of time, for 350-years, until one day, woops, it is no longer history. 2269 2-15-2008 (1:30 AM, received revelation)












Letter IX



Mecca’s Cry: the Year of Sorrow

(As remembered from the mouth of Moss the Prophet))


His heart beat like the sea
his anger was as if he had bees in his mouth;
Mecca became a dead city
after he killed them all
(10,000-soldiers strong, he conquered
them, butchered, like hogs).
The flies had a feast…, for
they tore open their bellies like beasts!
Their heads severed, rolled off,
down the streets—;
they would not listen,
they would not stop
they simply killed and killed,
as if, in a death dance.

#2271/2-16-2008 (10:50 PM)





Letter: X

“Pledge under the Tree”
(A Revelation from Muhammad Himself to Moss)

The Devil

While in the process of conquering the lands of Arabia (624 AD to 632 AD)

“I wanted everything, the houses, the dogs, hogs, ropes, and
jewels, even the souls, the family heritage, even the food, everything, and when the people who did not bend their wills,
I wanted to kill their wills; whoever was left, ate chicken
bones. My army, had pledged their lives to me, their souls,
to die for me, to kill, to kill to the very end of their days: to
battle, be it man, women, child, even virgins; they
died liked chickens or hens; twenty eyes like volcanoes
came and butchered them.

“There is never a silence in my head, only teeth and death. It comes each day, in shock waves, the vibrating twitching of muscles and swords clashing. I killed so many with no reason,
it was a season of red rain, in my days.

“I try to swallow my memory, but it keeps coming back,
chained down to oblivion, like a crucifixion; even
laughter does not help anymore, memory comes back,
luminous, like a clock.

“Once upon a time, I was a young man, and I died, for
no reason, like so many.”

#2272/ 2-16-2008 (11:15 PM)

Note: Muhammad, in the course of his battling with his enemies, he had his followers make a pledge to their death, called, “Pledge under the Tree,” perhaps this is where the suicide bombers got their credo, to the death.



Letter: XI


Spirit of the Dark




Amduscias and the Trees of Hell


Powerful Grand Duke of Hell
powerful demon, of 29-infernal legends in hell:
once a unicorn, once a human, you come in many forms:
thou bends to the music of heaven, commands
at will the trumpets of hell—yea plays
and the trees sway: who art thou
who comes in the form of
familiars (dogs and cats
bats and rats…) your
legend from hell?
so some say, one in the form
of Muhammad! Thus, a curse
to us, ordinary people of this thin world.



There is a Christian, belief, or call it folklore, that Muhammad was born on the day, year and month considered the Mark of the Beast, 666 AD, and not on 634 AD, as history has recorded it, and that he was the beast incarnate, the devil, or at best, a simply demon. #2264/2-17-2008






Letter: I

A Poetic Sketch on:
A´isha Bint Abu Bakr

Inspired by Sure’el (archangel of trembling)

(Wife of the Prophet)




Aisha 3rd Wife to Muhammad


To my understanding Mohammad the Prophet, had 13-wives.
Aisha was his 3rd, and very, very, very young; she was, said to
have been nine-years old, and the only virgin. Sawda, his second,
so it is said, yet there is a belief out there Aisha may have been his
second instead, but did not make love to her until after He wed Sawda,
being so very, very, very young ((`A´isha Bint Abu Bakr)(she who lives))

`A´isha Bint Abu Bakr: mother of believers: so it was, in older times,
one often married to strengthen ties, with families, clans, with other
armies, and kingdoms, and so it has been suggested, Muhammad did
just that, similar to Alexander the Great.

Aisha, lived with her parents to the age of nine, when the marriage
was consummated. Thus, after the wedding, it is said, Aisha continued
to play with her toys, in Median, in 622 AD.

It seems history records she was his most favoured wife, and he received
most of his revelations when she was in his presence. And even though
it might have been motivated for other reasons, they did become fond of
each other, and blessed by heaven.

It has been also said, Aisha had gone looking for her necklace, one
morning, and her caravan had taken off, left her behind, unnoticed,
and soon after a stranger found her, brought her back to the caravan, and
was thereafter called an adulater, until that is, until Muhammad
got a new revelation, from heaven, clearing her of any such charges.

After Muhammad’s death in 632 AD, at the age of 62, Aisha’s father became
the leader of the people, the new found religion, Islam, but his leadership
was to be a short run, only two years, and he gave it to Umar; whom ruled
for ten years, and was followed by another leader, thereafter.



End Note: It would seem, or at least it does to me, Aisha, was a learned woman, who—throughout her remaining years—gave stories to the Muslim world about her husband. Of her own time she must had been quite valuable as a historian. She is now of course, revered as a model for Islamic Woman. She also raised an Army, and fought against Ali, her step-son in-law. She was quite a woman indeed.

#2260/ 2-16-2008 (Inspired at 2:00 AM)





End to the book









Dr. Dennis Siluk has a Degree in Psychology, a License to Counsel in Minnesota, is an Ordained Minister, and has an Ed. D. in Education (for teaching and learning); he has traveled to more than 60-countries; and has written 36-books to date. He is a War time Vietnam Veteran. See author's site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com/

Thursday, February 21, 2008

Midwinter Winds (A Midwinter Poem for Minnesota, 2008)

Midwinter Winds
(A Midwinter Poem for Minnesota Poem, 2008)

Midwinter winds over the gray,
now heavily displaying in the Midwest,
go forth to gather the day,
for here the magic has come, with dreams.

O, happy winds play within my warm hands,
Ah! Let me play and rest…!
and breath in the yearning, to see,
so much midwinter gray, and snow to be!

#2280 (2-22-2008)

Christopher Brennan, A Great Poet (Review)

Who was Christopher Brennan?

For the most part, a forgotten poet (other than for Australia), who was born 1870, and died 1932; his work was more on the mythological side of the spectrum it seems; born in New South Wales, Australia. His main work, which I would like to bring to surface here, was Poems: 1913, which he published in 1914. He wrote several works, and seems to have influence many poets in Australia, perhaps like Juan Parra De Riego, in the Andes of Peru, whom most people do not know, but did some great things for poetry—creating motion.
In 1888, he, Brennan, entered the University of Sydney (I had visited Sydney back in 1971). His father was a merchant, and his first published work was in 1897; he was a librarian and lecturer, similar to our Minnesota Poet, Robert Bly, whom translated many books in Spanish and German.
The poem, “Autumn” has a shell of haunting to it, he uses such images as Clark A. Smith, Robert Howard or George Sterling would. Autumn is the best of all seasons to me, especially living in Minnesota.
In the poem, “Because He would ask me why I loved her,” once can see a nice rhyme schema, and fine architecture. He seems to shift a little in this poem, to a clearer premise, and a tinge of philosophy than many of his era poets, I like that.
In his poem, “Fire in the Heavens,” almost reminds me of Mary Renault’s work, on the Greek world, although Brennan shifts to Egyptian crypt like imagery, and descriptions. He is a worth while poet to read, even if one has to shift away from Free Verse.
Of the poems I’ve thus far mentioned, I would prefer “I Am Shut out of Mine own Heart,” a lovely poem, with skill, reverberation, and character. He was in love with a certain lady, and here you can get the mood of it, although he is not famous for his embedded feelings into poetry per se, better put, not emotional, yet he seems to get the message across in this romantic poem.
In “Sweet Silence after Bells,” I don’t care for that poem much, but it is a worthwhile poem to read; we often push certain poems aside because we have not experienced what the poet has, and this may be one of the cases.
In the poem, “The Yellow Gas,” Christopher Brennan produces many images, perhaps close to some of George Sterling’s poetic images—who is the master I believe of imagery, but seems to be more connecting and clear than George.
In his poems he does not get into radicalism, or nationalism, like so many poets do today, and half not knowing the issues at hand, it is refreshing; I like Robert Bly’s poetry, but he does this too much, and saturates his books with it, as did Ambrose. He has a touch of William Blake in his poetry also, depending of the poem of course.
At one time, Brennan was facing the issue of joining the priesthood; this also can be seen in his poetry (of faith, and metaphysical lights, embedded into his poetry).
In “Spring Breezes,” we see him shift his style to a more of a free verse style, but does not lose his rhyme schema, his stanzas are not exact, but he gets a good result, effect from the poem. All in all, I enjoy his poetry, and am anxious to read additional books by him in the future, if I can get a hold of them.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

William Burroughs (a Glance at "Cities of the Red Night")

…his outward vision, I’m not sure exactly what that is, and to be frank, I doubt he ever knew (Mr. Burroughs died in 1997, about four months after his old sidekick Allen Ginsberg kick the bucket): perhaps he actually believed, and I believe he believed, his vision was his concern of or for society, civilization, their deadly march to the inferno, but I can’t believe that, not down deep anyhow. Anyone who has read Burroughs, knows he is already in the inferno, he need not look for it in the cities for us throughout the world, or South America, if anything, his books are full of nasty words—and his homosexual desires, drives and tendencies—the book should be rated for sex, a triple-X, as in this book I am talking about, nothing new on the corner; it should only be sold in a porno stores; I suppose someone will say, as always: you don’t need to read it. That is an argument in itself, and in this article I do not have time to confront that saying, or issue. Anyhow, I wish he’d smile in his pictures a little more—and nothing is ever said much on love and kindness, just nasty words, and how everybody, and everything, is wrong, perhaps he got off on the wrong planet upon birth, he should have jumped off going by Utopia (there are a lot of ‘if only’ and ‘but (s)' in his written pages. He lives in a world of ‘what if’…he actually should have stayed in one of those third world countries, and fought for freedom and equality there instead of blaming it all on America. Had he wrote in 1981, what he wrote in this book, in Russia, he would not have lived to see 1982, or China for that matter, or Cambodia, Cuba, Zimbabwe, a few countries in South America, and so forth. Thus, what I see in this book is more of his inward look at his sadistic contempt for his soul, society, and America (he talks too much in this book on these issues) which is to me a gift from God (all three), and of course he is God, in his world, what a way to live, and die; on the other hand his soul I trust in on an apocalyptic trip to nowhere in this book he is telling us, what we already know in a childish tale, looking for disaster and hoping to find it to prove to God all us humans, are deadbeats except him. I think he would have loved to take all the causalities of his books with him, on this trip, in the ‘Cities of the Red Night,’ his Beat followers, in particular, and bring them into his mindset, which is pride and disaster. And the book is a nasty trip to boot. Furthermore, after enmeshing those who have read, “Cities of the Red Night,” into his little nest, I’m sure he’d try to sell them some more of his nastiness. It took him ten-years to write the book, the pages must have about 150-words per page, and about 325-pages, that is about 31-pages a year, or a few pages a month, or a paragraph a day, sorry to say, the book could have been written overnight the way it reads, what a waste of a decade.
The story starts in the year 1848, and it is of course Captain Mission (what an obvious, and silly name, he needs to be original, not stupid sounding, that is a name I’d had picked out of a hat, at the age of ten), anyhow, he makes the first comment. On the second page we get into a misplaced society talk, it doesn’t take him long. He thinks he is a Margo Polo, or perhaps James Michener, in this book, yet he is still old nasty Burroughs. As you get into the second and third chapters, the rotgut sex comes into play, as nasty as nasty can be. This guys mind was in the sewer when he was born, and died, where this book belongs.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

The Demon's Sea, Over Iceland (Reedited 2-2008)(originally, Uamak's Aquatic)

The Demon’s Sea,
Over Iceland

(Or its previous title: ‘Uamak’s Aquatic’)

[Suspense/ reedited 2-2008]


Delicately, my mind was selecting a muffled tune, out of the dead dark empty space surrounding me…
I saw a shape on a ledge, sitting on a rock, not sure who it was, or for that matter—what it was, it had a human like form, from where I stood, and that is quite a distance; my intuition and sensitivity though, told me something, it always does, and I think it supersedes my logic and simple thinking, and surely my feelings, yes, I was getting a sensation call it, second-sight, for it was and is stronger than a sensation; I’ve heard people say exactly what I am saying, before, not sure if I want to put a lot of credence into it, but sensitivity with numbness is something to be aware of, the body has a mind of it own, or so it seems at times, and give you messages, danger messages.
I didn’t’ sense any danger for the moment, in the moonlit figure, sitting on the rocks, lurking, looking down, and out into the deep sea. I did get an awareness of cramps in my stomach though, like centipedes nibbling at it—from all corners—sucking my pink and red flesh inward, along with my internal organs, stinging their poisonous little fangs into them.
I stumbled about in the thick foliage, lost in its prickly overgrown wild plants and mud, and god knows what else; in corollary, I came to the edge near the sea, over looking the aquatic, edge of the cliff, it was many years ago since I had been here. I zigzagged through the last of the bushes, carefully now, it was the rim of the cliff, and then I got into a clearer opening. I could only hear the noises of shifting waters now—the waters below me, as clattering waves hit, and splashed against the overhang—the sea cliffs, directly in front of me. It was but a few seconds after dark, behind twilight, yes indeed, it had disappeared, swallowed up by an agitated night.
Inscrutability always appears to bring with it a limitless amount of threat, does it not? A rhetorical question at best, sure it does, and that figure on the edge of the cliff, sitting on the rock…as he looked down into the bowels of he sea, the tide was becoming more calm, the longer he looked, the calmer it became.
The around him were mammoth, and the closer I got to the person overlooking the sea, its figure became more jagged, and I noticed it had fangs.
The wind was not gentle over my head, not like it was a few minutes ago, I mean the wind and the mist, just unexpectedly evaporated.
I was about to say, the shape, its silhouette, turned a tinge, it was a huge rock, with a huge figure on it, it now is looking into the sea, for a moment it was looking at me; it is as if he is locking himself into a trance. He pays me no more attention, perhaps I am but a worm to him, and too insufficient for him to bother with. He seems to be talking to himself or perhaps some sea monster (ha...ha) just kidding—but he’s talking to someone, something, and his head is pointed downward, down, down toward the sea. Save for the fact I am not in an illusion.
A fishing boat, no, no just a vessel of some kind, is down there, not sure why I said fishing boat, how do I know, it is lit, a light on its deck, I suppose it’s a deck, it is far off in the distance.
I am walking now, a fog has draped over me again, over this area; I am walking aimless I think, can’t see much in front of me, lest I end up in the sea or on top of that damn monster looking down into the sea, I am not sure why I said monster, perhaps he just a big dud, and that is that. I can’t see much… some shadows just left the moon everything is a bit more exposed now, but it is only producing a little light. In September it is chilly here. I swear that stature has something to do with this mysterious evening. Here off the coast of … (Iceland) my bones are chilled.
I wonder what that figure is doing out here? ‘…what are you doing out here?’ might be a better question. I couldn’t tell you, I’d not have the answer, ‘doing out here,’ what? Maybe that figure on the rock knows—he must be but a hundred yards from me now, maybe he summoned me, I mean I was in Reykjavik this morning, and here I am, like a drawn zombie to this out of the way location; perchance I’ll find out soon enough, and so will you. I mean it is night, but not all that late, dusk was a moment ago, but night is falling quick.
As I was saying, conceivably I was drawn out here. I was visiting a friend, you could say, but only after I arrived. So what provoked me to take this little trip —your guess is as good as mine. I have been to places around the world that seems to draw on a person’s soul, agitate his pulse to the point he has to go—and ends up at, wherever he does—in this case here.

“Aye, good Master,” I heard it mumble “…take the lot as it is….”
This is what echoed back to me, the wind, yes the wind pushed it back into my ears from the spot where that strange creature, or person is, that figure on the huge rock looking, just looking down, and into the–what I assume, the sea, a black hole in the sea, yes indeed, that is what he is doing, just looking down and into a black hole into the sea, for some odd reason, I can see that now, it just faded into my senses, my vision, and is now fading away, as fast as it came.
Evidently, something else is down there—thriving.
—The form looks quite proud with a hint of arrogance, reeking from its countenance (cloudy face). I asked myself, now (being some twenty-five feet away from it): ‘does he have an inkling of my presence (he must)?’ I never seen anyone concentrates so hard, who, I say who can, or does concentrates so hard? I mean look, he is asking the water of the sea something, or at least it looks that way? Perhaps my intuition is correct, someone, or someone is down there; I get the feeling he has lost something, and wants to bargain for it back—death brings out many wishes in man and beast: and he looks to be both. Or is he planning something?
Weird! He is huge, awfully massive. I’ll take a few more steps, a yard now, he should turn around I’d think. I’m sure he can feel my heart beating; I denote his beating, for I can hear it myself.
Again and again I say should he turn around towards me he’d see me, then what? Perhaps he doesn’t want to scare me, or perchance he wants to eat me, and I am almost in his web, his mouse trip—if he eats me, I hope I’m all rat poison to his system.
Now he heard me mumbling my thoughts, he’s starting some incantations as well. A pathway to what I ask myself—, now what, I’m right behind him, three feet (‘mama mea’):
“I’m Uámak, and below me, is the Rector of Doom, and there are many and various, ways to die, he has on a bone-skull plate these ways, they are carved into each and every plate, seventy-two plates, and seventy-two ways to die. He brings one plate out at a time to me, shows them to me. I am forced to look as he mocks me. Doom has no rest, and I am tired, and doom—believe it or not—
has a funny sense of humor; better put, a sardonic sense of humor. He will I fear, play with me for ages yet. He says I must select one, and knows I can’t, for demons lie, and I’m sure on each plate, he has modified it; what I really fear is wherever I go, it not be to oblivion, and so he plays his game over and over and over. I have this right to select, since I am half of what he is, the other half human. I am as old as Adam was; my father’s father was the last of his kind, beside me, we come from the family Og. He gathers my voice and echoes it down to the villages, and cities, and whoever is sensitive to such things, who have second sight, is drawn here, to assist me. He wants to entertain the folks under the crust of the earth—as they laugh at me, with him. I cannot chose, he has given me a certain time to do this, I accepted this, game in fear my doom which was already cut out for me before hand, could be oblivion, and so having a choice I found myself in this conflicting situation, I am torn. Which way has been chosen for me, I can go back to that, or what does he offer me on these plates? I know you have second sight, perhaps you know, and if you do, I will make my choice?”
I was mortified, he turned around and I almost lost control of my physical functions (he was: gloom incarnate; a demigod, half demigod, as he said, whom was being tormented by other demigods, thus I learned they do not favor their own kind, especially one that may have a choice in the matter.
Anyhow, he knew I might know, or could find out something, and he wanted me to tell him what has been chosen for his death bed, and what choices were the demonic beast from the sea bringing up to him in comparison. So that’s why I was brought here, didn’t know, and the fingers of doom as well as the City of Death (in the crust of the earth) would not tell him, perhaps for a long, long time and this would be his death until he begged hell and Doom itself to tell him, or hell got tired and selected one for him; I was his messenger I suppose, his seer. I stared into the blackness where he had been focused, the sea, where he was looking down into or at, and I couldn’t see what he saw, but what I did saw was his death…his death!
“What do you see?” asked the Uamak (the semi demigod).
“A being with wings, putting rocks over your body. You are in a desert, chained to the earth under you, and the rocks over you, you cannot move.”
“What death is this?” he asked me.
“The living death,” I chokingly said.
“Will I be conscious,” he asked.
“Always!...”
“What does Doom offer in its place?” he asked (with a rustic and a choking voice.)
“Repeated Death,” I answered.
“And what exactly is that?” he questioned.
“What he is doing right now, but with every demon in hell.”

It the following day, they found hanging between two branches of a tree, my neck cramped within the fork of the tree, my hands tied behind me, and I was hanging there against the tree, my head green as the grass, my body limp as a noodle. I was found by local police, and they asked me who my assailant’s, I didn’t say a word, they would not have believed me anyhow. It was the inhabiting demonic creatures, small imps, if I recall right. They were upset that I gave insight to the great figure. I hung on the demon tree for several hours, and I can’t blame them, that is what demon do best, they are amused by such activities, and immune to pity, or grace, or anything of such a nature.
I don’t know what he, Uamak, selected, I simply wanted to hightail it out of there, as quick as possible, away from the tree, the sea, and the rocks. Perhaps another time, another day, I may come back, and see if he is still around.


Note: Written 8/12/05/revised 8/19/05 (Reedited, some words were added for description, but the theme, plot and ending were left untouched. About 700-words were added. 2/2008)