From Babylon 5
From Babylon 5
Alignment, whether it is the planets, silverware in a drawer or the concepts bouncing about one’s head for years; when it happens, one accepts. Ideas that synchronize all past brain flatulations must be noted and applied. Symbols and portents are vitally important. I have stated my inability to take serious that which is not nailed down with fact but intuition is a thing I have based much of my life on.
Now, I hope to leap forward and tie both together with the feather boa of belief in things beyond my comprehension. Something’s brewing. I must embrace synchronicity and leap into the abyss if I wish to move to the next level.
I have purchased a new video camera and thought about testing it here.
Sheila, my gecko, volunteered for the job of web test pilot. My cinematography is lacking and manuals frustrate me. Need to be at least three feet away. Next time, I will find the proper distance and subject matter.
I asked Ray what he thought of my recent antics. His response is below. Also, my last attempt at reinterpreting his artistic vision.
What do I think about what Moses is doing now? That’s a tricky one. I mean, it’s important to know your people, who they are, where you come from. But, like everything Moses does, different is an understatement.
I wouldn’t be comfortable putting up all that personal stuff and my dreams for everyone to see. But, I have history. While there are times I wish my mixed up family wasn’t such a pain, I do have history. Moses doesn’t. He’s been pulling at this problem since the first day we met.
“Who Am I?”
That’s what he first posted on this site. We all spend our lives searching. Searching for what? Who we think we are versus who we are, a better life, better friends, a better world. Moses, he’s not bothered with that crap. He wants the basics. So, if this helps him to complete that journey, I’m all for it.
I’ve spent our time together trying to point him in a direction that will lead him home. Maybe this gets him there; maybe not. We only fail if we don’t take that leap and leap, Moses has, that is for certain.
Second posting by my friend Raymond Haygood.
Moses didn’t have a squirrel’s notion of anything when he woke up but that he was in a hospital bed with this Indian in the room. I suppose that’s why he remembers our first meeting better than I do. Yeah, I remember tossing some newspapers at him but not the conversation. His eyes, that’s what I do remember. They were clear now and blue. His hair was wild and looked like a torn up Brillo pad. Spoke perfect English but not one idea of who he was. That’s why I gave him the newspapers.
When I say, perfect English, I mean he spoke without an accent. I joke him about that now because he talks all New Yorkified like he was born and bred there. I guess without knowing who he was, he took on the affectations of his “new” home. The hospital was no home for him and neither was Arizona. I believe the only part he ever saw of this state was where he appeared and the airport.
During his committal, we talked a lot, played chess and watch bad TV. A friendship was born in those white walls full of the not so fortunate. He kept looking for clues, asking me all the time for books, papers, magazines anything that might help him piece together what happened. I felt sorry for the guy. I mean, how would you like waking up knowing squat about who you are?
When it became obvious he wasn’t going to get his memory back and that he wasn’t crazy (that happened later), I told him he needed to move on with his life. So I hooked him up with my half-brother in New York. They clicked like two parts of a seatbelt.
I would visit once in a while. Don’t like the northeast much. People up there are crazy. But we did have fun. Moses fits in up there. He kind of re-molded himself into a New Yorker. Makes sense because there wasn’t much personal for him to grab onto here so why not grab onto what was around him.
I asked my friend Ray to write a couple of blogs about when I first appeared. I felt his perspective was relevant to what I am attempting. The art attached to this posting was inspired by Ray. “Inspired” because he drew it but insisted I make it. Ray has always been a harda#$ once he made up his mind on something. So, now I’m an artist, too.
My name is Raymond Haygood. I am Moses’ first and oldest friend. I found him. Actually, I was the person who brought him out of the desert. It was someone else who found him but she disappeared. Anyway, Moses asked me to write something about when I found him. I am not as good with words as Moses, so I apologize up front.
I was coming back from visiting a friend in El Morro. That’s across the border in New Mexico. I took the right onto 191 off 61 and was heading back up to Interstate 40. Somewhere between that turn and Sanders, I found him. It was turning dark and I saw this car pulled off to the side of the road.
So, I pulled over carefully, taking my shotgun down from rack behind me. Out there, you practice the Good Samaritan rule, but take precautions because, you never know if someone is really in trouble or waiting to practice some “badass” on you. Anyway, I saw this woman trying to wrestle this naked guy into her car. I asked if everything was alright. She said no and needed help. I walked over, gun still in my hand.
My defenses went down when I saw the guy. He was alive but not responsive. I’m a nurse so I dropped to the ground to check vitals. He was alive but sketchy. Erratic pulse, shallow breathing and his eyes were so dilated; they were all pupil just black without color. I picked him up and carried him over to the bed of my truck. There was an old blanket back there I wrapped him in. I think I told the lady to follow me and then headed north to Sanders.
Found a minor emergency clinic opened and got him into the doctors there. It was only later when the police showed up that I noticed the lady wasn’t around. The cops asked me to describe her but, things had happened so fast, I couldn’t. I guess she followed me into Sanders and just kept going. Didn’t want to get caught up in the official crap of finding some guy in the desert, I guess
Anyway, the guy wakes up and has no idea who, what or where he is. Keeps cracking about this noise he heard. Some kind of music he needed to get back to. They sedated him and he slept for the next day in a half. State Trooper’s showed up and took over then. They weren’t sure what to do with him. I suggested the facility I worked at in Scottsdale. Nice place for a “loony bin” but I told them it was state funded and he’d be taken care of there until they found out what his deal was.
I followed his ambulance down to Scottsdale and helped admit the poor guy. When they asked for a name I told them John “Moses” Doe. Moses, the admitting nurse asks. “Yeah. Moses. He came out of the desert, man. You want him to be just another John Doe?”
She was a friend of mine and so, Moses was entered on his file. I went home to sleep after we got Moses tucked in that night. As I got out of the truck, I reach back like I always do to get my shotgun. The rack was empty. I had left the thing in the sand on the side of the road. It was my favorite gun. Never did find it.
I dreamt of dragons over the weekend and I am shaken by the content. Two previous dream types were referenced; one a classic, a child living in a Baobab tree (see Dragons), the other more recent. You’ll see as you read. I am left wondering who the puppet and who master.
There was a knock at the door below. A knock is not strange by itself, but the gentleness of the rap; almost ladylike in its strike. For just a moment, the boy thought of his mother. Possibly she had found him and was here to take him home. For only a moment though did he pause, the boy had learned never to trust and a knock in the night, no matter how appealing its chime, necessitated caution.
So, with lance in one hand and shield in the other, the boy walked carefully downstairs to his front door.
“Hello? Who’s there?”
No response. Looking through the peephole only revealed barren landscape. Carefully, the boy cracked the door but at the moment of opening a burst of energy blew it off its hinges. First, a scaly hand grasped the end of his lance and tugged. Before the boy could let go, a tale shot through the opening like a serpent striking a mouse and coiled around his waist. The boy could not counter and was flung out into the sand, both lance and shield knocked aside.
In the middle of his chest, a very large dragon muzzle pinned him. With every breath exhaled, the boy felt a blast of fiery heat from the dragon’s nostrils. The dragon parried the boy’s feint by pushing harder into his chest. The boy gasped for breath and the dragon pulled back shaking its head ever so slightly as if to say “No.” This stilled the boy. What else was there to do but await his fate? Sharp teeth and sticky gums appeared as a grin spread across the dragon’s lips. With a grunt, the beast grabbed the boy, flung him onto its back and was airborne leaving no chance of escape. That is, unless the boy coveted certain death by leaping off. They were already hundreds of feet in the air.
Dragons are very fast.
Holding on, the boy watched as the dragon flew towards the distant mountains where its cave lay. The boy’s thoughts were of defeat. The dragons had finally gotten the better of him and now he would become their dinner. But as they approached the lairs of his numerous enemies, it become clear that was not their intended destination. Flapping vigorously, the dragon cleared the peaks by mere inches.
The boy looked back and in the distance saw his home in the Baobab tree, light from its open door spilling out onto the front yard. Looking ahead he saw rolling hills as far as his eyes could see. He looked back again, but this time, there were followers; nine dragons pursuing in tight formation. The boy’s mount never acknowledged the chase. Actually, now that the boy had time to look, this was the dragon that had earlier attempted communications or at least some form of writing.
“What are you doing!?” he screamed at the beast.
The dragon ignored the boy and kept flying over hill after hill. Looking down the boy saw they were covered in grass ruffled by a breeze. On each hill stood a small boy, about his size standing at the summit silent, still and staring off into the distance. He tried calling to them but none noticed.
He gave up. This night’s adventure had become a complete mystery. The boy had never been beyond the mountains, had never seen the hills and had no idea other boys existed in this realm. He was not alone. But on closer scrutiny, the boy noticed something, something very important. The child atop each hill looked just like him. It was as if he had been copied multiple times and thrown about the hills like planting seed. For the first time fear gripped the boy.
Watching from above, one of the pursuing dragons dove full speed at one the children. The boy cringed at the violence about to occur. But, mystery, not carnage happened. The dragon swept down but did not devour the child. It flew straight into the child’s body, disappearing in a ball of flame that when dissipated, left only the little boy still standing on his grassy hill. The dragon became part of the child.
A perplexity of reality, dragons eat boys not disappear inside them.
Then, another dragon flew into another child. Again and again it happened until only he and his mount were left in the air. The implication drew a shiver down his spine. Was he, too, to be host to this beast who had kidnapped him?
They flew on for what seemed like days. Finally the hills ended at the edge of a green sea. The dragon dropped gently from the sky landing at the foot of a man. The boy looked into the man’s face and saw his eyes were deep black and sightless. The dragon knelt so that its shoulder touched the ground. Carefully, not sure what was happening, the boy climbed off the dragon’s back. He looked at the man whose eyes remained a void first and then back at the dragon. The dragon’s eyes were filled with many emotions but nothing the boy perceived as malice.
With a thrust of its snout, the dragon pushed the boy towards the sightless man. Confused, the boy watched as the dragon inhaled deeply. Then he understood.
But it was too late. The dragon exhaled a line a flame that engulfed both boy and man. Then flapping its wings, the dragon took to the air, gulping both boy and man as it lifted off. Neither had been burned and both sat comfortably in the dragon’s stomach. The boy could sense their direction from inside. He felt every hill pass underneath again. This time, the trip back to the mountains lasted less than a minute. The dragon opened its mouth allowing the boy to see the approaching jagged rock face. The man never moved, just laid against the wall of the dragon’s belly. The boy watched as the mountains grew closer. He kept thinking the dragon would pull up but the beast kept a true course straight at the mountains harsh wall. When it became clear there would be no deviation from death, the boy pounded on the reptile’s teeth, tongue and cheeks, anything that might get attention. But as before, to no avail. Resigned to their fate, the boy sat and watched as the mountains ahead loomed larger and larger until he could see the small seams of individual rocks.
The dragon hit nose first, exploding in a great fireball leaving nothing behind. First there was intense heat and pain and then all went dark. Nothing for an eternity before light appeared once more. The boy stood next to the man who now had eyes blue and full of sight. Across from them stood an Indian typing something into his phone, face lit by its screen in the night air. The man next to him spoke.
“Ray, what are you doing?”
The Indian man looked up.
“Yeah. Finding out if I have to scalp you or not?”
“Oh,” was the man’s only reply.
Here the dream ended and my eerie questioning begins. Of course I’m the man and Oliver the boy but who is the dragon? Ray gave me permission to post this. His response, “Hell, I like being the bad guy.” But I am not sure who the bad guy of this dream really is. The memory of it sits in my gut like bad Mexican food eaten the night before. It growls in my subconscious without the substance of reason.
There is a pang in my gut. Not pain of a physical nature but one born of emotional loss. Empty space once filled with something special now gone. I have lived with this pang since memory began. It is as if there were something left behind yet I know not what.
Romance, I have indulged in over the years. Not frequently and never for long. Once, when intimacy had passed and closeness was about to begin, a feeling of deep regret began to fill that area of pang. Not knowing why, I ended the relationship. The regret hiding deep in my gut dispersed leaving only the emptiness once more.
So … love? Have I been in love before but prior to memory? If so I have no recollection of its occurrence, its start or ending or even who I bestowed it upon? I want to love. But, I fear it as well. Why? Not for any complication it might add to my life. Complication is an understatement for a life so rumpled; it resembles a cotton shirt left too long in the dryer after the cycle has stopped. What would another wrinkle add but more intrigue.
I feel like a lone sailor in his long boat fighting through a storm desperately fixed on the dim glow of a lighthouse showing the way home. Home, another egg I put in the same basket as love. I have never felt comfortable in this skin I wear, nor have I truly found a home with hearth to warm me through the night.
My labors are many but sweated through in solitude; no one to share them with. Yet, like a small pin stabbed through the back of my brain, the feeling that there once was love radiates like hardening cement.
Is there still?
Will I find them?
And if not, will I ever be able to accept someone new?
Why these reminiscences of a possible lost love? A movie, a chick flick if you will with all the emotions wrapped up pretty and ready to be opened. Yet, I have given up on this present and live another day alone, wrapped in the blanket of solitude that will, God willing, give me the focus to find my way home.