Stars of Glory:
An Odyssey in Reality
by
Bryson Hughes
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Bryson Hughes
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Table of Contents
The Youth Our Being Our Communing
The Age of the Nations A Key Moment: Aliyah A Key Interpretation The_Navy's_Crazy Flies A Deadly Job Autumn Calm of ‘77 Adult Beginnings Back to Masonry Redneck Mercy Inquiring of Ike Root Fiber It’s Called Opium Into the Mirror Animal Archetypes She Calls Herself a Vampire Calling the Wind His Arm is Revealed The Bird Nest of Eden The Meshiach Effect The_One_Eyed_Union Whisperings Dogs A Cool Black Dog Worm Medicine Magic Walks Someone I Want You to Meet In My Face Invisible_Men_and_Demons_from_Hell Getting in My Hair Grinning Goat Pasech Wilderness Journey Mothers’_and_God’s_Love Witnessing_the_Crucifixion Abstract
Over Speed Reading the Gospels Media Speaks More Stars Magic Walk: Apollo Magic Walk: Clouds Calling the Sun The Squeaking Gate Colors of Duress Graceless Severity All Things Mine Revelations and Confusion Herald Vampire I Intercession Impression Christian Group Counseling Tricked The_Creepiest_Singing_in_the_Universe These Afflicted People Realization A_New_Modus_Operandi Medicine A Wicked Hand Occupying Time Medical_Testing Occultation Prose The Day We Die Get My Walking Papers Me_Cat_and_Mouse_Star Escape from Bedlam The Deal is Honored Humiliation_or_Humor Hallucinations Shotgun Wedding Mountain Folks Secondary Benefit or Dignity More Bible Reading The Red Vial The_Purple_Messenger Keep of the Stars Sunshine Says it’s Wrong The_Last_High Seeking New Friends Son of God Test Duress of the Bird They_Talk_to_Me The Serpent Watchers Following a Star Flying Away The_Trucker_and_the_Nutcase Destination Slammer Pokey Life Naked In Jail Exodus Changes Called to Work Signs of Smoke and Fire Missing Rita Grandpa’s Protest The Dream Joint Androgyny Tammy Returns Star_Gnat_Humiliator Be Not Amazed The Roaring Star From Thin Air Ha_Mikvah The Broken Cross Dragon Eyes Do Cats See Dazzled Oblivion On Trial Hair Issues Guitar Issues Covenant with Hell Driving Issues Dream_Raider The City Four Square The Birth of Faith Starry Warfare
Identifying With Israel Baggy Clothes Flight of the Dove The Watchman Spitting_Fire The Cursing Beauty Back to Abilene Bubbles Flash Spiders Old_Guys A Job Prayers Suffering a Witch Prayer for Diseases A New Disease A False Teacher Falls The Eagle Above the Stars A Gift of Robes Confronted_by_Sampson Clouds on the Horizon A Jamming Trumpet His_Sign_in_the_Sky He Lifts Up His Countenance Upon Me
Where are the Babies? Anti-Climactic Jesus Careful Witness Work Sheep
Author's Closing Contact Invitation
In 1978, I was a youth of eighteen years old. That was the year I became embroiled in the most bizarre spiritual experiences anyone could ever imagine. Things began to happen to me that were so unbelievable and so foreign to human ability to relate to, that unless I had been going through them myself I would never have believed it. I went from ecstasy of being, to roiling and terrified in mind bending events, with no one to turn to for answers. These were real events unable to be escaped by me. They were enforced by a will greater than imaginable, that these things must be experienced.
Even though I sought people’s advice, it was just futile. It wasn’t long until I realized that absolutely nobody had any answers. For in every authority of any form in this world, I witnessed convincing displays of insanity. All adults, all authorities, all cultures, all disciplines, were insane and unworthy to counsel me in any way. The only refuge of steadfast sanity that I found was the same as I had always had all my life. It now seems profound to me, that the only real refuge of reason and sanity, was manifestly my Father and Mother. Their love and care exceeded all the rest of the world's combined wisdom and counsel. Despite all their human frailty and limits, God made my parents wonderful gifts of love and strength to me. It’s strange that I’m now an old man before I see the divine order of parental love.
I was nevertheless on my own to grope through the darkness of my ignorance of the mysteries confronting me with overwhelming apparentness, searching for answers. But I wasn’t really completely alone though. I had a very strange teacher, who is human in a sense, but not really of this world. I wasn’t alone in another sense as well: I had the company of thousands of other beings who are not human at all, but who were teaching me great lessons in strange ways. Those were lessons that at the time, I existed in utter dread of learning.
People often ask me, “Why you?” Was there anything special or outstanding about me? Was I predisposed to some talent? Did I have a gift? All I can say is that I consider my youthful self, to have been about the most ordinary teenager as ordinary could be. I was ordinary in schooling. I barely graduated High School in the summer of ’77. My romantic side was boringly ordinary; perfectly lacking most of the time. Yes I had sweethearts; but to no great degree. Was I somehow a moral ideal of a youth that deserved a blessing from God? Well I wasn’t that bad of a guy, but I wasn’t that good either. I was a bit of both, like all the other really ordinary types. So I certainly didn’t earn any merit badges.
I had no special gifts. I didn’t have any extreme sensitivity to spiritual realms that so often gets touted. I didn’t have profound insights. I didn’t have some kind of really cool guru type of personality. Honestly, I was suspicious if there even really was a God, though I thought God probably did exist. I was fascinated by the accounts of Native American Bujeros, who took mind bending concoctions in order to encounter strange entities of some intelligence. But a lot of ordinary people were fascinated by that stuff whether fact or fiction. All in all, I was about as ungifted as the next person.
There may be a few things about me that are a little bit out of the ordinary. But nothing that it would make me some kind of spiritual wise guy. For example, I happen to be bright minded. Not in the effervescent bubbly mental activity kind of bright, nor the forceful horsepower of a fast strong mind; but bright in a quieter, deliberate and focused way of finding the essence of things
I was also physically very strong. In my youth I had developed a very impressive physique and I could chin myself with one arm at a time. I wasn’t the strongest of course, but I looked very impressive with my shirt off. Things have sure changed since then.
Another trait that I think deserves mentioning, is that I was quiet a docile young man. Principles compelled me to never dominate, bully or any of that other kooky “alpha male” childishness. Roughneck, aggressive, bully or redneck, were not terms often associated with me. Oh, I loved a good competition and even a tongue in cheek bragging session with my other overly muscled friends. But violence and fighting were something I loathed. In my heart I thought of myself as a flower child, a hippie at heart. Love, peace and harmony were my ideals to live by, and I tried to live them. I was largely successful at living out those ideals in those days. Even now, I still have good success at living out these principles.
I think a unique thing about me, is that I must have some kind of perception deficit when it comes to people. People can lie to me, and if it sounds plausible, I’ll believe them even when other people seem to realize right away that it’s a lie. I recall as a small child, that when an adult would tease me, I would believe them completely at face value. Later on, after learning they were teasing, I wouldn’t see the humor in their play. Other children, I’ve noticed, will immediately pick up on the humor and play along with an adult who’s playfully teasing with them. But I recall feeling stressed by adult kidding. Even when I did learn the adults were just playing, I recall feeling victimized by their pointless taunting.
I’ve also had it mentioned to me by others, certain expressions they see in people’s faces, leaving me to realize I didn’t know what those expressions looked like, nor did I perceive them. A person mentioned some envious looks he saw being directed our way. Now that was something I didn’t get. Envy was something to never allow and I was rarely exposed to such a thing. I simply didn’t realize there was an expression for envy. While this person I was with was noticing envious looks, I was completely comfortable among the people giving us the envious looks. I was oblivious to their envious looks being directed our way, though I now realize it was true. Maybe I was just sheltered from such expressions, or maybe I simply didn’t perceive them. But to this day, because of instances like this, I feel I must have a slight social dysfunction, in that I am missing some obvious clues in the gestures, expressions and voices of people.
Once my wife mentioned to me the look of love that an actor gave toward the heroin in a sweet movie we were watching. Once again I was struck by the realization that I didn’t see that expression. It’s an odd feeling to consider the ramifications of realizing you are missing clues about people. I asked my wife what the look of love looked like. She tried to explain it, and I think I see it now. But it makes a guy feel a bit uncertain about himself when he knows basic things are going by him unnoticed.
I had always thought of this lack of skill in interpersonal discernment, as a unique degree of gullibility that is just a part of who I am. But now I really wonder if there is something deeper causing my obliviousness. Maybe this gullibility, and my awareness that I go by what is literally spoken, is why I have become such a lover of plain speech. What an irony it is, that so much of what I’m sharing with you in the following account, is full of double meaning and symbolism. It’s kind of funny, but the story can’t be recounted in any other way.
There is also a trait I possess, wherein my show of any discomfort, humiliation, suffering, embarrassment or even physical pain, somehow causes people to laugh. There is something very humorous about my pain. It’s universal, and nobody seems to be immune from the need to laugh. Girls tend to be more susceptible, including my wife, my mother, my sister and especially my daughter. At least it has the side benefit of causing people to love me. I take it good naturedly. I typically tease them back for laughing at “my pain”. So I’ll excuse you in advance if you burst out laughing when I am spilling out my soul over some intense situation.
So you see there is really nothing special about me. So why did it happen to me? I suppose that's a question only God knows the answer to. Something I want to be very clear about though, is that I’m glad it was me. I may tell you about the troubles, the trials and terrors, but be perfectly clear: I am very glad for everything. Don’t mistake my recollections of tough things, as being resentful or griping. I just want to help you understand the events by conveying to you the feeling of everything. Bear in mind even as I share those events and experiences with you, that I actually am very grateful.
Allegory, symbolism, metaphor! How can a person see life in general, and existence individually lived, as if they are a set of allegories and metaphors, symbolic of another reality? Yet it is very common for people to interpret life this way. The Bible and other traditional Jewish literature, is permeated by allegory, ritual, symbolism, cultural buzzwords, meaningful associations and object prophecy. Jewish people obviously see life this way, as well as people who follow Jesus.
Even if you don’t enjoy deciphering such things, to understand a difficult book like the Bible and its accounts, you have to draw upon some double perspective mindset. With practice you get better at it so long as you have the discipline not to allow your imagination to run wild and start filling in the blanks with ill conceived notions. But my main point in mentioning this is that the story being told herein is a challenge to you to let go and see the symbolism, allegories and metaphors existing in these real life events; which harmonize with, resonate, and depict another higher reality.
Not everyone is so prone to seeing meanings in events. It depends on which perspective you take, and at what level you seek meaning. People who are rationalist and people who are down to earth types, tend to resist seeing higher meaning in events. But spiritual people and idealist tend to see meaning in every event that goes beyond the objective perception of the events themselves.
If you think about the events of your own life, maybe you can recall something strange and wonderful that involved you; something which happened and made you say to yourself, “God made all this happen”?
Now these are the BIG QUESTIONS:
Can our existences actually be manifestations fulfilling the shadowy prophetic promises of the past?
Can our present existences actually be allegorical depictions of things that took place in the past, or even, that which shall openly manifest in the future?
I say that our lives can poetically be those things. I hope you will suspend your skepticism for the sake of the story I’m sharing, allowing yourself to contemplate the double meanings, wherein I hope to vividly illustrate a very mystical life experience. The meanings of these events are not fully explained by the story itself, yet the seeds of those meanings are there all the same. I hope you can find the overarching statements in the events. Many deep and mystical things are touched upon in this story. The reason I haven’t clarified each episode is for the sake of the story itself. It is told to you purely and with very little interjected thought so that you may experience the story as it actually took place.
Concerning allegory, symbolism and metaphor; it seems that a lot of people, like me, don’t especially enjoy this kind of thing. Some people do happen to like such abstract interpretations of life experiences and existence. That's just the difference in people. However, it seems to me that God just loves expressing himself in those ways, using humanity as the medium of his artistic expression and the quill of his penmanship. In the area of higher spiritual expression, it's consistent with God that a lot of the things expressed by Him, come to us in these forms of expression written in human experience. That's a good reason why you should be encouraged to be receptive to these accounts.
The theological term for getting meanings out of accounts, where the meanings aren’t stated directly is, “Allegorical exegesis”. An example of it might be where you see a figure like Joseph becoming the Vice Pharaoh of Egypt, and taking it to mean Jesus will become the Messiah in similar circumstances.
Another term that is more contemporary in describing these hidden meanings is, “Synchronicity”. I don’t know much about the origins of this term, but I can describe the basic concept. "Synchronicity" is a term used when a person perceives events and finds them so compelling, so beyond mere chance, that they cannot refrain from finding some kind of meaning being expressed in those events. It has little to do with “synchronize” and little to do with “coincidence”, as some people tend to think when trying to grasp the concept of synchronicity. What it means is that a person perceives some unseen force, agency or intelligence, which is effectively choreographing events, and leaving in those events some perceptible meaning, expression, or evidence.
If there's actually nothing being expressed in events, when you might think there is, then you are the victim of an over active imagination. You are being superstitious, or hyper-spiritual. Or in the worst case, you’re being delusional. But I hold it to be true, that synchronicity does happen. Synchronicity is the very thing from which faith grows. Consider the Biblical definition of faith: “Faith is the evidence of the unseen…” You can see people rely on this effect in a lot of cultures and settings: The guy with a conspiracy theory; the superstitious person with their omens; people of faith.
What it means in practical terms is that you experience events and find some kind of meaning in them. Thus synchronicity can become a tool of conceptual form, for the detection of unseen intelligences, if those intelligences leave us the clues, and we have the acute perception to recognize the clues.
The downside of all this is that it can lead a person to be insane when he finds a meaning in things that really have no meaning at all. So heed this WARNING: Don’t let the things I describe to you, make your imagination run so wild that you think you’ve found the secrets of the universe! I want people to believe and understand my accounts. But I don’t want to see a person become a nutcase because his imagination is running wild.
The term “religious fanatic” is a term I happily embrace. In fact, I have a few homespun proverbs about religious fanatics: Bryson 1:1 “I may be a fanatic, but I have a good act.” That is an example of one of my “Fanatics Proverbs”. I have others as well, but I’ll spare you for now.
It has been my experience in my encounters with other religious fanatics, is that they tend to have very loosely connected ideas. In explaining their views, the fanatics flow through these abstract connections in such a way that I often couldn’t follow their reasoning. The meanings were obvious to the fanatics though, since in their minds it was all connected. But it wasn’t really so obvious, even to a fellow fanatic, much less anyone else listening to them. I have a personal commitment to being clear, and speaking to the end purpose of conveying understanding to those I speak to. But honestly, being clear or making the connections will be a challenge in a lot of the accounts I want to share. In order to share the feelings of being lost, in some cases I’ll have to leave you a little lost as well. I will at least inform you of what I was thinking concerning some event, action or decision. To avoid suppression of my present thoughts altogether though, I will leave you cryptic clues in the title headers of many of the episodes.
My bizarre experiences started so long ago, that I’m afraid that I can’t recall all of it. So don’t take me to task if I make an obvious mistake in timing or the sequence of events. I also want you to realize that I am using pseudonyms for some of the people. The reason is in the interest of consideration for some of the people involved. The details might not be so flattering to them, and they might just as well prefer that I use a fake name for them.
Next is the actual beginning of the story. Several seemingly disconnected events all begin to converge in themes and meanings as part of the crescendo toward the moments of decision and realization, and a fantastic climactic event. Themes such as sanity, metaphor of life, unseen intelligent agencies, underground groupies, and the struggle to understand and reconcile such things, begin to emerge. It begins with an allegorical story of heartbreak. Enjoy!
Tammy was my sweetheart. We were young when we met, and we had become romantic. I especially enjoyed Tammy's most vivacious sparkling personality. Tammy was as harmless as a dove. She was ever fun, buoyant, and captivatingly interesting. In all the time I spent with Tammy, I don’t recall a single cross moment or sour disposition. Every memory of Tammy is of cheerfulness, bravery, and loving kindness. I also enjoyed the adoring looks her big ole’ pretty doe eyes would cast my way. She had made me into her hero, and I just reveled in it. Tammy Weinstein is in her core nature just a truly harmless lamb.
But of course there had to be a complication. I had an old wound of a heart break in my chest; a painfully struggling flicker of a flame for the object of my passionate desires. It was the memory I held of another beautiful young girl named Rita Mea. The old wound divided my heart and prevented me from reciprocating the abandoned love toward Tammy, as Tammy extended toward me.
I realized there was an imbalance of love, and felt bad about not feeling the flames of love for Tammy as strongly as I thought I should have felt. Having had my own heart broken by Rita, my flaming desire, in which the roles of love were just the opposite, I understood the situation Tammy was in as if I were in her shoes myself. I had been concerned that Tammy would be hurt if my love never grew to be as strong as hers. But I gave our relationship time to grow, thinking that maybe my fervent love or passions would grow for her. Then love would be mutually strong and all would be well. It was as fair as I could think of being toward Tammy. So onward in time, she and I cruised. Even though I didn’t give Tammy all the attention she deserved, she never complained, and was always joyful toward me. Just recalling her makes me realize what a fool I was for not seeing how very special Tammy actually is.
Though I never mentioned it to Tammy, I often thought of marrying her. But if my love for Tammy was not properly and appropriately strong, it would be unfair for both of us to move toward marriage. She deserved as strong a love toward her, as I would also want toward myself. It was the same reasoning I had used to console myself over Rita. Rita had just not felt the same for me as I had for her. It would have been unfair for both of us if our relationship hadn't ended. This is why I wanted to feel breathless throbbing love for Tammy, but that kind of feeling just wasn't there. I was afraid therefore, of doing something tragic for both of us if I led us in the direction of marriage.
In retrospect, I now realize I will never feel the exact kind of love for anyone like I experienced for Rita Mae. Rita was heady ambrosia for my love and she was intoxicating to me. I realize now that true love is not just the feeling of that numbing, dizzy, intoxication love. Love comes in many beautiful forms. I simply didn’t have enough maturity to realize this as much as it concerned a precious gift named Tammy. Tammy was actually loved, but in another profound way, which I couldn’t grasp at that time.
I recall vividly the meditations I had concerning Tammy one day. Would you believe I was concerning myself over her Jewishness as far as her being a marriage prospect? I found myself very attracted to her Jewish features, such as her large beautiful doe eyes and her tanned olive tones. There was also something quirky and charming about her humor and spunk that I have come to realize is an ethnic personality trait called “Jewishness”. It wasn’t for things like this that I was concerned. It was religion! Me of all people thinking about religion!
But I was thinking like this: If Tammy and I got married, we would have children. There might be a God, and if there is, I don’t want to cause my children to lose out. If there is a God, Christianity would be the right religion. But Tammy might not go for that. She doesn’t seem too concerned about religion, but that could change! I might change! She might! Just to be on the safe side, maybe I should look for a Christian girl to marry.
Suddenly, I stopped thinking about Tammy. It was more than not thinking about her. It was virtually a case of amnesia about her. It was wonderfully strange how I didn’t seem to think about Tammy for a period of time. I did think about somebody else though. She was a Christian girl. There was one name among all my peers that was always spoken of in quiet respectful tones. She was a girl that no one would speak badly of. It was understood among us all that she was respected. She also was a lamb. Her name was Dena Davidson.
What made my prospects pretty good with Dena was that she and I had shared strong puppy love crushes when she and I were just youngsters in elementary school. Dena and I used to sit together on the school bus ride back home from school. It makes me smile to remember back then, that it really was a sweet crush that Dena and I shared.
So like the misdirected fool that I was, I called Dena up out of the blue and made overtures toward her. She was a bit surprised and confused, but it was fine all the same. We arranged times to see each other and hang out. Even so, I was a very bad slacker about seeing her. I was just a crummy boyfriend if there ever was one. Only Rita had ever drawn me to her helplessly enchanted by her summoning.
One afternoon, Dena and I met at the softball field on New Hope Road to watch the girl’s church leagues play. She and I sat together on the bleacher stands just chatting away, when I saw my sister Jalana also arrive to watch the games. Jalana climbed up on the bleachers that were down from where Dena and I were, and TAMMY was with her! I hadn’t even thought of Tammy for a couple of weeks. What had happened to my mind? Why hadn’t I even remembered her?
Jalana and Tammy sat on the bleachers over from Dena and me, when they both saw me; and I was sitting there with Dena! Suddenly I didn’t want to be sitting there with Dena. All I could see was the realization in Tammy’s eyes, and the thunderous pain of jealous betrayal that went through her whole being. Jalana and Tammy immediately left the game. Tammy couldn’t stay.
How had I forgotten about Tammy?! I was ashamed and angry with myself. Sickened with remorse, I left the game soon after Tammy and Jalana left. Suddenly I no longer had any interest in Dena. I only wanted to heal Tammy’s broken heart. But how could I ever heal this mess? I disgusted myself and felt deep shameful remorse. I found myself confused and mystified by my lack of recall. I just couldn’t believe Tammy had left my thoughts until she appeared at the game.
Jalana loved Tammy, and stayed with her a lot of the time to be a friend during Tammy’s grief and feelings of rejection. If only Tammy had known that in my heart I was not rejecting her at this moment. I longed for her presence in order to comfort her. But she was deeply injured, and I stayed away since I was the dirt who was the source of her pain. Jalana told me that Tammy cried her heart out for three days solid. I hated myself for hurting Tammy.
Thank goodness Dena had been oblivious to all this. She broke up with me soon afterwards because a disgusting gossip had told her that I had said something bad about her. Her parents insisted she end the relationship. She ended it alright, only after I was ambushed and confronted by her angry parents when I stopped by her house. It was convenient for me to have this ended. But ended on a bad note like this wasn't what I had in mind. I protested in earnest my innocence, so that Dena would know that I never, ever, slurred her. Now I was angry about a gossip and I had hurt Tammy to boot.
Jalana told me that Tammy was angry and that her new word was “cynical” concerning everything. I felt her pain deeply. I understood her wariness and mistrust. Who could blame her? I didn’t deserve anyone’s trust. I felt the same feelings of fearing to trust and be open hearted anymore, after Rita had dumped me. It was hard to understand how one’s deep love could just be shelved like that. If only Tammy knew my sorrow and deep remorse, she would feel better and forgive me.
After the torment I had put Tammy through, I thought the best thing to do was to give her some space and just let some of the hurt fade away. But I knew I was going to apologize and ask for forgiveness from her. I was hurting for Tammy. I just knew she would never again have the same trust for me, the same abandoned love that was innocently free from concern. I sensed I had done something to permanently damage sweet Tammy’s spirit, like Rita’s rejection had done to me. I knew that I had felt suspicious and wary of showing my love after I was shelved by Rita. I thought the same thing may have been happening to Tammy. I so wanted to see her, but I had to respect her need to be to herself as well.
After a couple of weeks had passed, there was an evening when my great friend Johnny Prescott came pulling up in our family driveway. He was looking very good with his new rounded hairstyle that took full advantage of his natural curl. Johnny had also started wearing sharp looking sports suits that he had inherited from a deceased brother in law. Johnny looked like a very sharp young millionaire. The coolest thing was Johnny’s car that his parents had given him. The car was a 1973 Buick Electra 225, midnight blue, white vinyl top, and chariot looking spoke hubcaps. This car was a bad boy’s car that rode low to the ground, smooth and powerful. That car was so very nice to ride in while we listened to the eight track music tapes that Johnny kept in good supply.
Johnny came on inside into the warm light of the house. Presently, as Johnny and I were just chatting along, the front storm door opened again and in stepped Jalana, who gave me a signaling glance that was telling me something was up. Then another person came in behind Jalana, and it was Tammy! I was cool on the outside at Tammy's arrival, but I was joyful on the inside. I was so glad that Tammy had been able to drop by! I knew the courage it took for her to come over. I tried to be sweet and cheering to Tammy, without being too overt about it. Tammy was being brave and cordial, but she really wasn’t her usual effervescent self. She was so very emotionally drained, and here she was dealing with it silently right in front of me; the rotten guy who hurt her.
Johnny was unaware of all the tensions in the air among our group, and was ready for some fun. He suggested that we all pile into his car and go for a night drive up to a nice area of the lake. Jalana liked the idea, and I thought it was a good idea too. Tammy was obliged to go along even if her heart wasn’t really in it. Naturally, Jalana jumped in the front seat with Johnny, and I got into the rear seat with Tammy, who said not a word. I was feeling her every pain she felt with her. I was determined to cheer Tammy up somehow. I knew this night would not pass until at the very least, Tammy realized I cared.
On we rode in that soft riding chariot with Johnny and Jalana chatting amiably up front. Tammy and I were just riding quietly. Johnny drove us that night to a remote part of Percy Priest Lake, into a recreation area called Vivrett Creek. It was a nice spot because the moon shone brightly there and it was right next to the gentle water. He parked the car facing uphill which made us recline all the more inside the big Buick. Thankfully, Johnny and Jalana seemed very content to visit each other and they kept to themselves in the front. The sound of "Boston" music was playing softly enough for conversation to be easy.
I looked over at Tammy in the soft night light. My heart was just breaking over all she had been through. She was sitting there staring straight ahead with her large beautiful eyes shining fearfully in the night light. I turned to face her and the only thing I could think of to tell her was “Tammy, you sure look pretty tonight”. This may sound kind of lame and shallow, but my rational was to let her know that I appreciate her. In a sense the real meaning was: I accept you, I’m sorry, will you accept me? Aside from that, it was true that Tammy was very attractive that night, even if she looked a bit down.
Tammy somehow listened to my heart, rather than just my plain words. Tammy wasn’t looking at me as her large glistening hurting eyes stared straight ahead into the gentle night. She sat stiffly for a few seconds as I faced her. Then something inside Tammy just seemed to break open and she noticeably released out her held breath. She just relaxed and her shoulders slumped forward a little. She lowered her head and those enormous eyes in such a way, that it welled up all my feelings of compassion for her. I can hardly bear remembering that precious lamb in that moment. I wanted to comfort her all the more, but I refrained myself.
I did manage to take the clue from Tammy's gestures. What they meant was: “You’ve hurt me! You’ve been wrong! Somehow, I forgive you.” Feeling Tammy’s helplessness to have forgiveness toward me, I very gently took her right hand and turned to look at her face to face. I can’t recall what else I said, or that she said to me. I do recall that everything I said to her was intended to be gentle, healing words of tenderness. Tammy seemed to have relaxed, and was looking at me with reconciling eyes of forgiveness and affection. Tammy and I were reconciling in a true and real way. I hope she realized somehow, that these were gestures of love, though I didn’t understand it myself at the time.
It was then as Tammy and I looked into each other’s face with reconciliation, that I noticed a slight glow above Tammy’s head. I raised my eyes to look at whatever was glowing just above her hair. As I looked at the glow it was just a fuzzy blob of pale light. But then as I observed, the light began to take form and resolved first into a fuzzy edged shape, and it then became a very clearly focused image of a Benjamin Franklin type of key, composed of light. The light of the glowing key seemed to be a light blue or lavender tone.
I didn’t react or respond to the appearing key except on the inside. For in a strange way, with Tammy and I reconciling, the key over her head seemed appropriate to the situation. I wasn’t in the least bit startled by its appearing. After seeing the key of light, my immediate thought was, “Something is telling me I have the key to Tammy’s heart.” “I bet it’s some kind of invisible spaceman, who’s watching us. He really dug the beauty of our reconciliation, and he just had to say something.”
Do you see any meaning to a key appearing over a young broken hearted Jewish girl’s head while she is being reconciled with the object of her love? If you don’t understand it, you aren’t alone. Even though I personally experienced this expression from the unseen visitor, I didn’t really understand it either. It was twenty years later before I finally did fully grasp the real meaning behind the expression of the key, in concert with the reconciliation between Tammy and myself.
In a strange way, even though I don’t think I ever made Tammy aware of this, the spirit and soul of Tammy lingers in my heart. She was a part or two wonderful spiritual expressions while she was in my presence. There have also been two spiritual dreams in which Tammy was involved in them. What I would really love is to be able to tell Tammy about the spiritual events myself in person. I imagine a joyful visit in a coffee shop or diner, where Tammy and I have time to just chat. I could tell her how she figured in, concerning these things. Ah well, if only life was that simple! Even if I had ever had a chance to tell Tammy about this stuff, she probably would have absolutely no confidence in it, or in me. I was after all, soon to be her fallen hero from the age of our transitions from children to adulthood. But who knows; one day maybe.
I’ll go ahead and explain the visitation and the sign of the key, sparing you from the task of twenty years of speculating on the meaning:
Tammy and I were actors in an allegory portraying another story of heartbreak and reconciliation. The story is that of the relationship of God and the Hebrew nation. In this case I was portraying God, and Tammy was Israel. Dena herself represented the Fullness of Nations, the Christian Nation of the United States. What about Rita? If I had to say Rita represented something, for me, Rita was like the Garden of Eden; a memory of a wonderful lost paradise.
In the years while I was still in school at DuPont Sr. High, the armed services came to administer a test to every student in the school. I think the school year was 1975 / 1976. The name of the test was an acronym: “ASVAB”. It stands for Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery. Since I wasn’t getting graded by the school on the test, I felt quite relaxed taking the exam when it came my turn.
The testing took a long time; most of the school day in fact. But it was interesting so I enjoyed looking at their pictures, matching the shapes and doing the math. Some of the math was over my head, but hey! I figured out some of it. They had sections on writing and other things. All in all, it was somewhat enjoyable and curious to take the ASVAB test. It wasn’t exactly the drudge that I thought of most school work as.
Well in a couple of weeks I received a notice in the mail from the United States Navy, in which my scores were noted along with a bit pat on the back telling me they were great scores. I was instructed to contact a particular person immediately, which I did. I was informed by this person, on how the scores were based on a percentile of the all the people who took the test. In four categories I scored above the 99th percentiles and in the fifth category I scored above the 68th percentile. What this meant was that I scored higher than 99% of all the people in those four categories and higher then 68% of those tested in the fifth category, which was on clerical skill. Well I felt pretty good about being the 1% in four categories.
The Navy recruiter that I had contacted asked if I would be willing to take more testing in just math. I enjoyed the testing before, so I agreed to do some more. So on the agreed day, they sent an attractive Navy lady to my house to pick me up and take me to the testing facility. She took me to a large multi story building in downtown Nashville. We went up several floors and entered a room full of Navy personnel. They sat me at a desk, handed me the math testing book and worksheet, and set the timer. They said “begin”, and so I sat there doing math for about two hours. A lot of it was over my head again. I did the problems one after the next instead of skipping to the next ones I did understand. In the process I managed to figure out a lot of the problems that were initially too hard for me. But this sequential approach slowed me down, and some that I could have solved, I ran out of time before I got to them. The testing administrator informed me that I had one minute left. I had 13 problems left to go. I figured out a couple of more problems, and as the clock ticked down, I had eleven problems to go. So I figured I would get a fourth of them right if I marked all the last ones the same. I chose to mark the last eleven as the answer "C”, just as the clock ran out.
The administrator collected my testing score sheet and placed an answer key grid over the top of it. Through the holes in the grid there showed the correctly marked answers, and the ones not marked correctly didn’t show through the holes. He counted carefully how many holes showed the correct answers and wrote the score down. Then he stated, “You’ve qualified with eight to spare”. I asked him, “How many of the last eleven did I get right?” He quickly looked at the last eleven holes and said, “You got one correct”. I thought that was misfortunate, as I expected at least three to show correct even though I didn’t actually work them.
After he scored the results he stated to me, “You’ve qualified for two programs the Navy offers. You've scored well enough to qualify for the top program, which is the Nuclear Power Program. The other option you could take would be Advanced Electronics. But you have good enough scores for the Nuclear Power.”
Whoa! Me, the school flunky who thought everyday there was drudge and imprisonment. The guy who got failing grades when he didn’t bother to do the drudge they assigned in classes. The guy that the school administrators had an instinctive disliking for just qualified for the Navy's top program! HA!
I was then taken to visit a recruiter, who told me about the terms of the Navy’s enlistment obligations. If I decided to accept the Navy's offer, he told me the obligation would be for six years; two of which would be schooling and the other four would be active duty. He said it started several pay ranks higher than the typical enlistee pay scale. He informed me that re-enlisting after the first obligation, would include a huge bonus. If I didn’t re-enlist, I would have high demand skills in the Nuclear Industries job market. All the schooling I would be getting over the first two years would be in various places around the country for different aspects of it. The Navy recruiter valued the schooling as worth forty thousand dollars! Man I felt like a hero! Finally somebody knew what I was really made of.
I was told that even though I was only fifteen almost sixteen years old, that I could sign up now, and then when I graduated at seventeen, I would be just old enough to report to the Navy and begin my Navy schooling. Then the travel would begin as I went to the various schools. I liked the sound of all this and was seriously thinking about it. We left the Navy facilities and the Navy lady drove me back to my house.
I began to think of everything. The pros of joining the Navy were already stated. But I began to have a few negatives come to mind. For one, being fifteen years old, a six year obligation to be in the Navy, sounded like a lifetime! Indentured servitude for SIX YEARS! I didn’t like the sound of that. We are also talking Nuclear here. What was the life expectancy of nuclear workers in these days? Was it thirty five? Then could I expect cancer from exposure to nuclear pollution? I saw the news about nuke workers in Kentucky having problems with exposure, and how they were suing their employers with class action lawsuits. I heard how so many of them got cancer, and other diseases and how some of them had died. I think I even read about these kinds of things in Readers Digest or some other publication.
But the clincher for me to decide not to join was a matter of conscience. I thought about all the nuclear bombs and what would happen if the “Cold War” I was always kept in anxiety about, was to heat up and become nuclear annihilation. I wasn’t against war or anything, and even told myself that in a war, if I killed a hundred enemies, I wouldn’t have regrets. But wouldn’t it be my luck to have to be part of blowing up a million Russians! A MILLION in an instant! I can’t kill a million people! Those Russians are just like me, ordinary folks who deserve to live. I’m no better than they are. I just can’t do it!
So between the short life expectancy of nuclear workers in those days, and my pains of conscience about instantly killing a million Russians, I decided I would slide on the Navy’s offer. For a long time I didn’t bother thinking about it anymore, even though the Navy sent me mail pretty often and even occasionally phoned me.
The years passed, and I finally graduated from High School. I had decided to not do any schooling for at least a year. Then after a year of sabbatical, I would start thinking about college. Being the youngest, or nearly the youngest person in my grade every year at school, had always been a big drag to me. Waiting a year for college would remedy that problem.
But then I started thinking about that I did have the potential to do the Navy thing. Well maybe I was a bit hasty and uninformed about the Navy. I wondered, how did military ranks work, and what exactly is the structure and life of a Navy man? I knew nothing about anything military. Maybe I wouldn’t be blowing up a million Russians. So I decided to go talk to the Navy people and get more information about the Navy scene.
The only place I had ever had any contact with the Navy was in the building downtown. So I decided that’s where to go to find out the information I wanted. I went downtown and found the building. I went inside and went to the floor they were on, and then went to their offices where they were working. When I went in, all the Navy personnel looked at me like I was a Martian! I wondered what their problem was. I informed them I wanted to ask some questions from them about the Navy.
The Navy personnel wanted to ask me some questions as well, like, what I’m doing there. They sure were looking at me funny and they all seemed real uptight and clammed up. They did their best not to be informative and they started whispering. Then I overheard the words, “Crazy” being tossed around. That made me angry, so I decided I didn’t want to be around these weirdoes who can’t even talk to a regular guy, for all their gawking and big goo goo eyed looking at me. They were really starting to creep me out!
I looked for the door out of there and started working my way back toward it. I said my goodbyes to the Navy folks, and hit the door. I hastily went back out of the building, straight to my old Buick. I jumped in the mighty old bomb like it was a getaway car. I fired up the rowdy engine and got out of there feeling like I was escaping before somebody came after me.
Once I had left, I was really offended and angered by the Navy personnel. I decided the Navy was stupider than I could have possibly thought. I thought to myself, "I sure am glad I didn’t get involved with people like them, if this is how they end up acting. They really had the nerve, calling me “Crazy”!
This was the first time of many that I encountered the term “Crazy” being directed at me. In fact I even apply it to myself in a light hearted way since functionally it does seem to apply. However, I have never thought of myself as actually being crazy, and fought the perception hard to prove myself as a reasonable fellow. The struggle I felt, to have some shred of dignity, was hard and often fruitless. Yet the struggle against this term had begun. And to think, it was the Navy which fired the first salvos of this indignity toward me. I might have been a great and innovative scientist for them. We will never know.
So what if I accidentally went to the wrong place to find the information I wanted! Isn’t that understandable considering my youth and inexperience? Sometimes we all seek answers in the wrong places and settings. That doesn’t make us crazy! Sometimes even in those settings, we serendipitously find out things we weren’t really seeking to know, but which are profound anyhow.
Just look at the prejudices of the establishments which don’t respect our seeking. That establishment only sees our floundering around as evidence of our threat to them because we didn’t go through their official channels! Then they swiftly demonize us and insult the seekers among us. How they lose the opportunity to win us. But instead they drive a wedge between us and them, because we acted outside of their official establishments and protocols. Whether the institutions are governments, religious, medical or even academic, those who seek, or who sought, outside of the institution’s scopes or authority, are swiftly denounced.
History bears out, that it is the unorthodox seekers among us which bring the real breakthrough innovations to society. History also bears out, that it is the establishments which became the persecutors of the innovators. Who knows what those establishments with their “higher” authority or sense of "duty" will do in their zeal to persecute the innovators and the unorthodox. The establishment organization's suspicions are boundless.
After my encounter with the Navy people, look at what I actually found out. They are seriously paranoid and blindly insensitive. It wasn’t what they intended for me to realize about them and their bureaucratic culture. Who knows what they might do. The Navy people seemed crazy to me at the time.
A year or more before the strange events of 1978 started, I was sleeping in my bedroom which at that time was upstairs on the north side of the house. I was disturbed by a fly buzzing around and getting on my face. I finally got up, turned of the lights and began trying to kill the thing. I managed to swat a fly and then there were two more which I started trying to swat. Each time I swatted a fly, there would be more to swat. I realized the room was rapidly filling with flies and swatting them was futile. Soon the room filled with thousands and thousands of flies. I had seen enough. I went downstairs and awoke my mother.
Mom groggily asked what I wanted. I told her my room was filled with flies. This sounded strange enough to awaken her fully with some curiosity. She got out of bed to see this for herself, and went with me upstairs. As I opened the door, the light in the room was on and Mom looked inside! She gasped at the spectacle she saw. Thousands upon thousands of flies were now in the room and the walls and ceiling were blackened with the ones not flying around. The air was so full of flies that you could not go in without being brushed by them by the hundreds.
It was like some strange scene from an Alfred Hitchcock story to look into my room that night. I decided to bring out the big guns and went downstairs and got a can of Raid Insecticide. I went into my bedroom and started bombing it, putting as much insecticide in the air as on the walls and ceiling. Then after liberally spraying it around, I shut the door and slept downstairs. In the morning I went upstairs and the floor was blackened with dead flies. I cleaned up all the flies and the event never repeated. It was strange though.
Was this plague of flies some kind of breeding event and the stupid flies decided to come into some narrow passage into my room? I’ll never know. Was it meaningful? I didn’t think so at the time and I don’t know now. But there is that question of meaning, now that I have more reason to ask it. I can imagine, but I can’t say that I know, what the cause was. I look back at the scene of the event as an abstraction of the legions of dark demonic specters being depicted by a swarm of flies invading my peace and rest.
Sometimes the imagination needs to be restrained by the presence of a solid practical intelligent individual to give you the logical explanations. I like these kinds of people and value them greatly. Sometimes I envy what they don’t know or consider, and do my best to emulate this grounding and centering way of thinking.
No, surely there was no meaning behind the event with the flies filling my room, except that maybe I needed to clean the room and stop attracting flies! No, surely this was some instinct driven event and the flies were only following their natures, which by chance caused them to invade my space. Surely, don’t you think so?
“Beelzebub”, one of the names of the Devil: It means, “Lord of the flies”.
Rex Oldham is the stereotypical artist personality: Not too excitable, cool and laid back. He’s a soft spoken and gentle fellow who's lacking much motivation, but is passionate about what he loves. Rex is a medium slim fellow with his hair combed in the outdated style of the mid sixties teens. His easy smile and his light sensitive glasses gave him the overall look of a mid-sixties hipster out of time. Yet Rex is a very cool fellow.
Rex ended up getting married when he was only seventeen to an evangelical preacher’s daughter from the sticks of eastern Tennessee. Her name is Vashti. I suppose this youthful marriage set up a pattern for them, in which youthful irresponsibility lingered as a mode of living.
But Rex was my great friend, even though he was a few years older than me. We both had a love of freedom with few responsibilities. Smoking marijuana and just hanging around were what we liked doing most of the time. He was cool and mellow and I was docile, so we made good pals.
I suppose Vashti must have started prodding Rex since he wasn’t working. But Rex boasted to Vashti that he could get a job right now! So Rex and I piled into his car and off we went “job hunting”.
Rex’s family had been masonry contractors, and so he was familiar with that kind of work. He hated doing it, but it was a job he could get. We drove into Mt. Juliet and passed by the High School, and there was a lot of work going on there. There had been a fire that burned the gymnasium to the ground, and they were rebuilding it from the ground up. So onto this job site Rex and I went. Rex spoke to the masonry foreman and the next thing you knew, Rex was hired to lay blocks and he got me a job as well to be a mason's tender. We agreed to show up the next morning and start work.
The next morning was hot already since it was mid summer. It was a bright cloudless day. I was anxious to get to work because I was excited about all the money I would make. Rex of course was nonchalant about it as we drove to work. I didn’t have a clue about how to do my job, but I figured that it couldn’t be that complicated.