American has a growing love affair with the end of the world. Why this fondness with all things apocalyptical? Novels like "The Road "by Cormac McCarthy and "The Stand" by Stephen King are perennially perched atop a dozen bestseller's List.
Motion picture films like "I Am legend", adapted from Richard Matheson's 1954 novel, and "The Postman" by David Brin have earned more than respectable box office returns. But, more important is the growing success of the genre as a whole (films, literature, fine arts, and even heavy metal and gothic sound tracks). Its mushrooming popularity reveals a dark undercurrent of the American psychic, manifesting an obsession with post-apocalyptic visions. Hollywood has already pulled the trigger on several apocalyptic thrillers aimed at teens and pre-teen audiences.
While significant groundwork was laid during the 1920's and 1930's, the real work was done in the aftermath of War World II. Science fiction writers imagined a planet occupied by alien life forms, or wrote of meteor showers leveling cities and bringing civilization to the brink.
Others world-enders pursued a more religious theme, threading the stories with the ultimate triumph of the forces of God over the forces of the ungodly. Christian fiction writers, borrowing from the Old Testament, wrote of end days as prophesied in the Book of the Revelations. However, early religious fiction was limited to a paltry audience of apocalyptic aficionados and religious extremist. Nonetheless, by the start of the new millennium Left Behind, the blockbuster novel by Tim LaHaye and Jerry B. Jenkins, took the genre mainstream.
Secular visions of the apocalypse would have to wait a little while longer. American popular culture was beginning to embrace the-end-of-world-has-we-know-it.
Once everyone laughed and pointed at the psycho parading the end-is-coming sign, tolling the bell of Armageddon and preaching salvation. Ironically, now, Hollywood is financing those who would warn of impending disaster, and point to the dark omens. And, they do with digitalized high resolution film and surround sound.
The dropping of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs and the Arms Race opened the door to the fear that one day the chickens could someday come home to the roost. The very same fear expressed comically in the classic Dr. Strangelove: How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Bomb. Bomb shelters, fallout drills and the emergence of the survivalist market was testimony to Americans growing apocalyptic dread. Total destruction became a real possibility for millions of Americans. Nowhere is post-apocalyptic American better depicted than in "Alas, Babylon" by Pat Frank and in "Canticles of Leibowitz" by Walter M. Miller.
But, America's growing infatuation with a domestic brand of Armageddon reached its apex with the 9/11 tragedy. The image of New Yorkers fleeing the crashing towers and the toxic clouds of the death was broadcast over and over until the image was emblazoned indelibly in our minds. America's exalted sense of invincibility came crashing down with the WTC, our feeling of security forever buried in the rubble.
However, there may be other reasons for the growing popularity of doom and gloom. American technological and economic achievements helped her to amass great wealth. The American standard of living is admired and envied the world over. In the history of the world, no society has achieved as much, so quickly.
Yet, no one knows more than Americans the price of that progress. While few Americans would trade their way of life for any other, psychologists have long documented the mounting feelings of alienation, acute anxiety and depression among the working masses. Most Americans at some points have felt like interchangeable cogs living a purposeless life in service of corporate American. Thus, no one knows better the crisis of progress.
This may explain America's perverse fascination with eschatological (what if) scenarios. I am Legend; the mega-budget post-apocalyptic film opens with, Will Smith, motoring through a deserted New York City in a red supercharged Mustang convertible. Later he's patiently stalks his prey, only to have it claimed by a family of lions. Man relegated back to just another hunter, just another creature having to kill to survive.
Strangely enough, as terrifying is the idea of being the last human alive is (not counting the mutated creatures wandering the landscape); the scene conveys a certain feeling of liberation. In the absence of both convention and law, there's only the law of nature. The way life was before the rise of civilization.
And, even in The Road, where a dying man and his young son faced spine-numbing cold, starvation, and a desolate and unforgiving countryside, there was a kind of deliverance, a lifting of the veil. I am not suggesting that Americans long for an end to it all. Yet, the growing genre may offer an exhilarating change, an escape, from the routine drudgery of rat race.
Another reason for the genre's growing popularity is the speculative aspect of the post-apocalyptic themes, artist stretching the limits of their imagination in regard to what is or is not possible. One writer wrote: "Apocalypse is one of those realms where the ideological spectrums bends into a circle and the extremes meet".
These thought experiments erase so-called boundaries, suspend ordinary thinking and incited a new consciousness, transcendent and mystical. Post-apocalyptic fiction "tears everything down, and speculates about how human nature will react". It looks at the psychological, sociological, and physical ramification of living in the aftermath of the apocalypse. Where technology is sparse, and man is striped of his machines.
In the end, post-apocalyptic fiction may offer a "self-defeating prophesy". Maybe its only real value is in its warning to the human race. It may be a means of dodging an apocalyptic event, cheating out self-prescribed fate. A reorganization of perspectives, a global paradigm shift, may be just the thing to turn America from it's (what more and more experts are saying is a) self-destructive course. Perhaps, this apocalyptic faith addresses a long forgotten need to return to our place in nature. And, by that I mean man's harmony with his surroundings, and with respect for creation. If we don't, may God help us all.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
America at the Crossroads
I am sorry to burst your bubble, but Barack Obama is no messiah. He cannot single handedly cure the nation's ills. Some people are looking to him to save America. They want him to do what they themselves cannot, or will not. And, that is to steer the great ship of state from its course of business as usual. And, John McCain is the same old Republican Party brand. Paradoxically, he claims to have the answers to many of the problems that his party under President Bush caused in the first place.
Now I've make some pretty harsh accusations. To test the validity of my assertions, we will have probe little deeper. Let's start with what our country needs RIGHT NOW. For one, we need a government that is free of lies, open to change and compassionate.
What do we have now? To start with, look at the way that the America people were deceived about Iraq possessing nuclear weapons, WMD's. Do you remember all the propaganda the poured from the White House, with Condoleezza Rice, Gen. Collin Powell, and Donald Rumsfeld leading the crusade? After 911, with some much blame going around, few in Congress would dare challenge the President's call to arms.
The American people went to bed after watching the late night news convinced that Osama was under their bed waiting to cut their throats and Saddam was in the closet with a dirty bomb. Is it any wonder that the campaign to "shock and awe" the Iraqi people faced so little opposition in congress. When the TRUTH finally surfaced, we were knee dig in it. What did the war cost us?
Well, let's see. We had gone from having the sympathy of the world to being the scourge of the civilized world. As a result, we've become estranged from our allies and provided valuable propaganda for Al Qaeda recruitment machine. In addition, the billion dollars a day cost of the war has had a devastating affect on the American economy. Important social programs are being cut, and the American infrastructure continues to crumble, including: education, roads and bridges, water, energy, and transportation. So much for trusting the American government.
Democracy, if not for not of the consent of the people, is tyranny. Presidents have claimed to have the welfare of the American people at heart? However, paying off their debt to special interest supersedes all other priorities. Cast in point. Each presidents since the oil embargo of 1973 has placed the interest of the seven sisters, seven largest American oil companies over the needs of the American people. While oil profits reach record level, the working class takes a beating at the gas pump.
Even a blind man can see that our crude oil dependency results in: the death of thousands of America's son and daughters who are deployed to oil regions, the transfer of trillions of dollars to the Middle East, and the inflation of goods and services across the board. All of which undermine national security while financing the very same terrorists that the government claims to be seeking to destroy.
The third requirement of good government is compassion for its people. In response to that, I have one word for you. Katrina. I will never forget the faces of the tens of thousands abandoned by their government for 5 days to survive the best way they knew how. The president claimed that he was unaware of the crisis. He blamed the head of FEMA for the blunder, who when pressed for an answer by an enraged newswomen said that he had no idea of the horrendous conditions in New Orleans. These were Americans. Where was the same compassion shown to third world nations faced with natural disasters?
Can either candidate change the way Washington does business and provide the American people with what the Constitution says they are entitled to? I think not. In my humble opinion, the American people are going to have to get involved, and fast.
Apathy and rampant disconnect is the real enemy. How long can we use NASCAR, Monday Night Football, and American Idol to escape our responsibilities as citizens?
There dire consequences for our indifference. For example, if we want to lessen our dependency on foreign oil, we have to change our lifestyle. Drilling for more crude is not the answer. America must become energy conscious in a way we never have. In the same way we must become dedicated to transforming our faltering educational institutions, our corrupted financial institutions and outmoded factories.
With China and Japan on the rise and even Russia looking to return to world prominence, the future is now. We as a nation must face the reality that we are at a crossroads. The entire community must get involved in schools on all levels; businesses must provide internships to promising youth, those who are able must donate to charities, those without the finances must donate their time and those with skills must train others.
Make no mistake; our vast wealth will not save us, considering that we are currently thirteen trillion in the red and nearly haft our annual budget is going to service the interest alone. If the future of this nation is to rescued from the shifting sands of economic and technological change, it must begin at the bottom and work it way up, and not the other way around. In the words of John F. Kennedy: Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.
Now I've make some pretty harsh accusations. To test the validity of my assertions, we will have probe little deeper. Let's start with what our country needs RIGHT NOW. For one, we need a government that is free of lies, open to change and compassionate.
What do we have now? To start with, look at the way that the America people were deceived about Iraq possessing nuclear weapons, WMD's. Do you remember all the propaganda the poured from the White House, with Condoleezza Rice, Gen. Collin Powell, and Donald Rumsfeld leading the crusade? After 911, with some much blame going around, few in Congress would dare challenge the President's call to arms.
The American people went to bed after watching the late night news convinced that Osama was under their bed waiting to cut their throats and Saddam was in the closet with a dirty bomb. Is it any wonder that the campaign to "shock and awe" the Iraqi people faced so little opposition in congress. When the TRUTH finally surfaced, we were knee dig in it. What did the war cost us?
Well, let's see. We had gone from having the sympathy of the world to being the scourge of the civilized world. As a result, we've become estranged from our allies and provided valuable propaganda for Al Qaeda recruitment machine. In addition, the billion dollars a day cost of the war has had a devastating affect on the American economy. Important social programs are being cut, and the American infrastructure continues to crumble, including: education, roads and bridges, water, energy, and transportation. So much for trusting the American government.
Democracy, if not for not of the consent of the people, is tyranny. Presidents have claimed to have the welfare of the American people at heart? However, paying off their debt to special interest supersedes all other priorities. Cast in point. Each presidents since the oil embargo of 1973 has placed the interest of the seven sisters, seven largest American oil companies over the needs of the American people. While oil profits reach record level, the working class takes a beating at the gas pump.
Even a blind man can see that our crude oil dependency results in: the death of thousands of America's son and daughters who are deployed to oil regions, the transfer of trillions of dollars to the Middle East, and the inflation of goods and services across the board. All of which undermine national security while financing the very same terrorists that the government claims to be seeking to destroy.
The third requirement of good government is compassion for its people. In response to that, I have one word for you. Katrina. I will never forget the faces of the tens of thousands abandoned by their government for 5 days to survive the best way they knew how. The president claimed that he was unaware of the crisis. He blamed the head of FEMA for the blunder, who when pressed for an answer by an enraged newswomen said that he had no idea of the horrendous conditions in New Orleans. These were Americans. Where was the same compassion shown to third world nations faced with natural disasters?
Can either candidate change the way Washington does business and provide the American people with what the Constitution says they are entitled to? I think not. In my humble opinion, the American people are going to have to get involved, and fast.
Apathy and rampant disconnect is the real enemy. How long can we use NASCAR, Monday Night Football, and American Idol to escape our responsibilities as citizens?
There dire consequences for our indifference. For example, if we want to lessen our dependency on foreign oil, we have to change our lifestyle. Drilling for more crude is not the answer. America must become energy conscious in a way we never have. In the same way we must become dedicated to transforming our faltering educational institutions, our corrupted financial institutions and outmoded factories.
With China and Japan on the rise and even Russia looking to return to world prominence, the future is now. We as a nation must face the reality that we are at a crossroads. The entire community must get involved in schools on all levels; businesses must provide internships to promising youth, those who are able must donate to charities, those without the finances must donate their time and those with skills must train others.
Make no mistake; our vast wealth will not save us, considering that we are currently thirteen trillion in the red and nearly haft our annual budget is going to service the interest alone. If the future of this nation is to rescued from the shifting sands of economic and technological change, it must begin at the bottom and work it way up, and not the other way around. In the words of John F. Kennedy: Ask not what your country can do for you, ask what you can do for your country.
SECRET OF THE NILE VALLEY (EXCERPT)
“It was in the Sudan where I first came across an astonishing piece of Egyptian folklore swathed in the candor of history. According to the legend, hoards of Hyksos invaders flooded across the breach in the great wall surrounding the city of Memphis. “Hailing their war cries and wheeling their battle-axes, they flooded into the city. Hacking blades and copper tipped arrows cut down the palace guard. The city’s elite garrison was overwhelmed as they rushed to stem the steady flow of Hyksos soldiers into the confines of the temples and palaces. The outer streets of the city were fraught with the Asiatic soldiers, spewing their vile hatred on the defenseless populace. Even those who surrendered were put to the knife. The barbarous invaders showed no mercy. Women were ravished and then murdered; all except those spared in order to carry the seeds of the northern invaders, adding further humiliation to the proud citizens of Egypt When the city was deemed secure, the commander of the conquering army ascended the thrown with 600 nobility knelling before him. Husbands and sons were made to watch while the soldiers violated their women repeatedly. The festival of carnage lasted for several days and nights. When only male prisoners remained, the fathers were made to watch as the drunken soldiers turned their hateful lust upon their sons, sodomizing them with red-hot chewers. When no further death sport was to be had, the high priests were assembled before the commander of the mighty Asian army. Nothing in the sacred temples was disturbed. The high priest weren’t harmed, instead were treated with the highest regard, yet restricted to the temple. Entering the throne room, the high priest of Ra stood before the Hyksos commander. “I demand to known two things. Where is the book and what is has become of the royal family? They weren’t among the other noble houses. “You will not find the book,” the priest canted. “Ah, but, that is where you are wrong, holy one. I know that the book is in your keeping.” The commander started to pace again, stopping before a younger priest. “And, you will render it to me, even if I have to torture every one of you.” Without warning, he drew his sword from the sheath and lopped off the head of the young priest in one fell swoop. “The commander then kicked the head across the temple floor, leaving a trail of blood. “No wonder this dynasty, the Sun king, and the noble houses fell so easily. They are counseled by charlatans and fools.” The high priest didn’t respond to the verbal attack, instead, began reciting an ancient mantra. The other priest joined him. The commander laughed at what he thought to be a feeble scare tactic by his desperate captives. He was about to order more deaths when a deafening reverberation shook the room. A violent wind blew the massive doors off the hinges, as if struck by the hammer of God. Everyone was thrown to the floor and the gargantuan braziers were snuffed out, blanketing the room in darkness. Minutes later the wind subsided and the braziers were relit, but the priests were gone. Only their robes remained.
America's Darkest Secret
The Illuminati: America's Best Kept Secret
In the future a plot is hatched by the ILLUMINATI and carried out by eco-terrorists to bring down the guardian of the free world. In the aftermath of America's economic meltdown, the nation is plunged into chaos and civil war.
Amidst the carnage, a mystical black child is born. His birth prophesied by a modern day sage. On the winds of desperation, word spread of a future Messiah who will vanquish the evil government seated in the Midwest and restore the nation to its past glory.
But, the undermining of the world's most powerful nation did not take place over night. The seeds of America's destruction were planted by the founding fathers.
Most of the Founding Fathers were initiated into the St. John's Lodge located in Philadelphia, established by some of the colonial society's brightest minds by orders of the Grand Master. Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Alexander Hamilton, Paul Revere, George Washington and John Marshall would all swear allegiance. With the exception of Alexander Hamilton most were cursory members with no true knowledge of it Mason's sullen intentions.
However, Benjamin Franklin was initiated into the highest level of the order in a special ceremony in London, where the Dark Priest himself presided over the proceedings. There Franklin was given the instructions for the design of the seal of the United State; the pyramidal motif would reference the origin of the organization with the pyramid indicating the incompleteness of the organizational task, and the all-seeing eyes representing the omniscient of Satan.
Numerology was utilized in the seal's design (and later in the design of nation's capital, and even in the nation's legal tender), conveying a message to those in the know.
Those within the inner circle knew that that the eye atop the pyramid didn't symbolize the God of Abraham, Isaac or Joseph, but omnipresence of the dark order.
The offer to join the secret society (with connections to the heads of Europe) was a nearly irresistible proposition, most weren't aware of the masterful plot to steal what Great Britain, with the world's most powerful army, could not conquer.
When Thomas Jefferson and George Washington woke to the reality of the subterfuge and Franklin no longer garnering the same influence he had before the war, the Masons put their hopes in Alexander Hamilton.
Under orders, he oversaw the creation of a central bank, one with the power to inflate and deflate the nation's currency. With such power, the order could gradually siphon off the nation wealth and render the entire population into slavery.
What the black nobility didn't count on was the vibrancy of the American spirit and its passion for self-governance. The American Revolution unleashed librating forces that make it difficult for the alien presence to reverse.
And, with the enormous proceeds from the tobacco trade and other cash crops, they were able to starve off foreclosure. So, the dark order bided its time, becoming a fixture in the hall of power and go-betweens for America's ruling elite and the vaults of Europe.
The War of 1812 was the order's first attempt to destroy the young nation. It was this satanic lot that facilitated the war that drove America deeper into debt with the European lenders.
By the time Andrew Jackson move into the White House, the secret societies of Europe had infiltrate the nation completely, though they still hadn't wrestled control from the old patriots.
When Jackson realized what was happening, he warned his fellow Americans. He was assassinated for his patriotism. Fortunately for him and an unsuspecting nation, the assassin's guns misfired and Jackson survived the plot on his life.
The Monroe Doctrine, drafted by John Quincy Adams, spoiled the European effort to establish a beachhead in Latin America. Which they planned to used to instigate conflict between the U.S. and it neighbors to the south.
The collaborators became too numerous to mention, but even that wasn't enough. So, the Hidden Hand decided to revert back to their first and most effective weapon. WAR. Divide and conquer was the strategy. The most polemical issues of the time were slavery and states rights. It did it very best to empty the U.S. treasury, so by the time of the firing on Fort Sumter, the coffer of the national government was nearly emptied.
However, Lincoln saw through the charade. The Rothschild's were counting on the North winning, but having to mortgage the future of the nation to bring about victory. Lincoln was full awareness of the banker's motives.
He warned the American people in speeches, but his voice was soon silenced when John Wilkes Booth, agent of the global money cartel.
The plot to impoverish American through the conflict failed because of the discovery of gold out west, which infused the weak economy with new life.
Nonetheless, the trumped up war cost the over six hundred thousand American lives.
Over the next fifty years, J.P. Morgan and J.D Rockefeller, promoting the Federal Reserve; the latest weapon in their arsenal, helped the black nobility to gain control of the American economy.
Shortly thereafter, the nation was plunged into the worst depression the nation had ever seen. Inflation, failed mortgage, and undervaluing American farmlands allowed them to fleece the country and to rob unborn generations of their rightful inheritance.
The next president to take a stand against what was perceived as America's intractable foe was Woodrow Wilson.
He warned the American Public: There is a power somewhere so organized, so subtle, so watchful, and so pervasive that they (honest men) better not speak above their breath when they speak in condemnation of it.
Once the dark force had acquired hundreds of America newspapers, freedom of speech became a thing of the past. American was steered into the war with Spain even against President Cleveland's better judgment. Adm. Alfred T. Mahan, commander in the British Royal Navy and sworn protector of the British Crown, embarked, through his influence in the war department, the nation on a course of imperialism.
This assured that the contrived German aggression in Europe would pull the U.S. into two world wars. Between the depression and First World War, America's national debt rose by 600%. In the following decades it would continue to escalate.
Nazi Scientist, who were said to be captured after the fall of the Third Reich, delivered the hydrogen bomb. What was supposed to be an unlimited source of energy turned out to be Pandora's Box, rendering a weapon of mass destruction.
Instead of liberating the world from, hunger, meaningless toil and suffering, it drew the world into a game of nuclear Russian roulette.
The political, military and ideological seeds of Armageddon planted with the annihilation of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, America faced off with the Communist menace. The stakes were never higher; the cost of staying in the game would be the blood the nation's young and the emptying of both national treasuries.
It wasn't long before the Cold War saw American occupying parts of Asia and Africa. The outcome is well-known, a war that nearly tore the nation apart.
Suffering from post Vietnam stress, the nation was offered drugs, sex, and rock' in roll to drown it grief. Hollywood, Madison Avenue, and the music industry was retooled with the latest in electronics, computer technology, and behavioral sciences for the essential role it was about to play in the usurpation of the minds of the American public.
Corporations had come of age by the 1950's and their appetite for profit married them to politics. It wasn't long before, they linked their future survival with that of U.S. laws and domestic policy. The line separating the business from politics became blurred, as it became necessary for the candidates to raise tremendous sums of money.
But, as the sixties dawned, it became clear to the corporate world, the future hinged ..ling the expenditure of the U.S. government. Military spending alone accounted for 26.6 percent of the budget. President Eisenhower warned the American people of the danger of the Military Industrial Complex. He saw, but was powerless to stop, creeping inflation and soaring budgets as a means of robbing the public.
John Fitzgerald Kennedy was assassinated because he took Eisenhower's words to heart. Joe Kennedy, father of the president and Attorney General of the United States, was ordered to call off his sons or else.
But, the older one was headstrong and he went along with his plan to pull the U.S. out of Southeast Asia, close military bases in various states across America, acts that angered many in the Pentagon. Kennedy realized the threat to American sovereignty after being maneuvered into the Bay of Pigs by the Pentagon and the CIA.
After refusing to give the orders for a full-scale invasion of Cuba, he tried to appease the forces that wanted a confrontation with the Russians. With members of the secret order of the snake cellularized throughout the Washington bureaucracy and members of the inner circle taking their orders from powers outside the U.S., the Cuban spy plane incidence was nearly escalated into World War III.
Kennedy called for the resignation of a number of generals who he discovered was undermining his authority as president. In a bold and dangerous move, he started to decentralize the CIA, in affect, dismantling the agency. Orders soon came down that he had to go. A coup was soon carried out right under the noses of the American people.
America was being torn apart at the seams, with a growing movements demonstrating acts of civil disobedience. Seeing the establishment as the enemy, they demanded an end to the war, an end to the destruction to the environment and an end to the dehumanization and alienation of the American people.
Over the next thirty years, the nation slide deeper into a pit of immorality, degradation, and material obsession. Misinformation and propaganda has succeeded at silencing the voice of the sixties.
With the fall of the U.S.S.R, America alone shouldered the awesome responsibility of being the world's only superpower. While America sought to police the world, the world grew more cognitive of her motives, more envious of her wealth, and more critical of her hypocritical foreign policies.
Terrorist and anarchist filled in the vacuum created by the fall of Red Menace. Hijacking Islam, they used threats of mass murder to force wealthy nations of the West to overextend themselves by appropriating larger and larger sums of their gross national product for security and less to productivity.
The invasion of Iraq played right into the hands of the terrorist, when Iran were the greater threat to world peace. The U.S. would discover that too late, as Iran teamed with Syria and continued to export suicide bombings, kidnappings, and weapon of mass destruction.
With Syria's and Iran's support, Sunni insurgencies stepped up their assault on coalition forces. The dark forces of Europe worked hard at turning America's former allies against her. With the exception of Britain and Israel, American alone in the quagmire. The backlash shouldn't have come as a surprise.
In the future a plot is hatched by the ILLUMINATI and carried out by eco-terrorists to bring down the guardian of the free world. In the aftermath of America's economic meltdown, the nation is plunged into chaos and civil war.
Amidst the carnage, a mystical black child is born. His birth prophesied by a modern day sage. On the winds of desperation, word spread of a future Messiah who will vanquish the evil government seated in the Midwest and restore the nation to its past glory.
But, the undermining of the world's most powerful nation did not take place over night. The seeds of America's destruction were planted by the founding fathers.
Most of the Founding Fathers were initiated into the St. John's Lodge located in Philadelphia, established by some of the colonial society's brightest minds by orders of the Grand Master. Thomas Jefferson, John Adams, Alexander Hamilton, Paul Revere, George Washington and John Marshall would all swear allegiance. With the exception of Alexander Hamilton most were cursory members with no true knowledge of it Mason's sullen intentions.
However, Benjamin Franklin was initiated into the highest level of the order in a special ceremony in London, where the Dark Priest himself presided over the proceedings. There Franklin was given the instructions for the design of the seal of the United State; the pyramidal motif would reference the origin of the organization with the pyramid indicating the incompleteness of the organizational task, and the all-seeing eyes representing the omniscient of Satan.
Numerology was utilized in the seal's design (and later in the design of nation's capital, and even in the nation's legal tender), conveying a message to those in the know.
Those within the inner circle knew that that the eye atop the pyramid didn't symbolize the God of Abraham, Isaac or Joseph, but omnipresence of the dark order.
The offer to join the secret society (with connections to the heads of Europe) was a nearly irresistible proposition, most weren't aware of the masterful plot to steal what Great Britain, with the world's most powerful army, could not conquer.
When Thomas Jefferson and George Washington woke to the reality of the subterfuge and Franklin no longer garnering the same influence he had before the war, the Masons put their hopes in Alexander Hamilton.
Under orders, he oversaw the creation of a central bank, one with the power to inflate and deflate the nation's currency. With such power, the order could gradually siphon off the nation wealth and render the entire population into slavery.
What the black nobility didn't count on was the vibrancy of the American spirit and its passion for self-governance. The American Revolution unleashed librating forces that make it difficult for the alien presence to reverse.
And, with the enormous proceeds from the tobacco trade and other cash crops, they were able to starve off foreclosure. So, the dark order bided its time, becoming a fixture in the hall of power and go-betweens for America's ruling elite and the vaults of Europe.
The War of 1812 was the order's first attempt to destroy the young nation. It was this satanic lot that facilitated the war that drove America deeper into debt with the European lenders.
By the time Andrew Jackson move into the White House, the secret societies of Europe had infiltrate the nation completely, though they still hadn't wrestled control from the old patriots.
When Jackson realized what was happening, he warned his fellow Americans. He was assassinated for his patriotism. Fortunately for him and an unsuspecting nation, the assassin's guns misfired and Jackson survived the plot on his life.
The Monroe Doctrine, drafted by John Quincy Adams, spoiled the European effort to establish a beachhead in Latin America. Which they planned to used to instigate conflict between the U.S. and it neighbors to the south.
The collaborators became too numerous to mention, but even that wasn't enough. So, the Hidden Hand decided to revert back to their first and most effective weapon. WAR. Divide and conquer was the strategy. The most polemical issues of the time were slavery and states rights. It did it very best to empty the U.S. treasury, so by the time of the firing on Fort Sumter, the coffer of the national government was nearly emptied.
However, Lincoln saw through the charade. The Rothschild's were counting on the North winning, but having to mortgage the future of the nation to bring about victory. Lincoln was full awareness of the banker's motives.
He warned the American people in speeches, but his voice was soon silenced when John Wilkes Booth, agent of the global money cartel.
The plot to impoverish American through the conflict failed because of the discovery of gold out west, which infused the weak economy with new life.
Nonetheless, the trumped up war cost the over six hundred thousand American lives.
Over the next fifty years, J.P. Morgan and J.D Rockefeller, promoting the Federal Reserve; the latest weapon in their arsenal, helped the black nobility to gain control of the American economy.
Shortly thereafter, the nation was plunged into the worst depression the nation had ever seen. Inflation, failed mortgage, and undervaluing American farmlands allowed them to fleece the country and to rob unborn generations of their rightful inheritance.
The next president to take a stand against what was perceived as America's intractable foe was Woodrow Wilson.
He warned the American Public: There is a power somewhere so organized, so subtle, so watchful, and so pervasive that they (honest men) better not speak above their breath when they speak in condemnation of it.
Once the dark force had acquired hundreds of America newspapers, freedom of speech became a thing of the past. American was steered into the war with Spain even against President Cleveland's better judgment. Adm. Alfred T. Mahan, commander in the British Royal Navy and sworn protector of the British Crown, embarked, through his influence in the war department, the nation on a course of imperialism.
This assured that the contrived German aggression in Europe would pull the U.S. into two world wars. Between the depression and First World War, America's national debt rose by 600%. In the following decades it would continue to escalate.
Nazi Scientist, who were said to be captured after the fall of the Third Reich, delivered the hydrogen bomb. What was supposed to be an unlimited source of energy turned out to be Pandora's Box, rendering a weapon of mass destruction.
Instead of liberating the world from, hunger, meaningless toil and suffering, it drew the world into a game of nuclear Russian roulette.
The political, military and ideological seeds of Armageddon planted with the annihilation of Nagasaki and Hiroshima, America faced off with the Communist menace. The stakes were never higher; the cost of staying in the game would be the blood the nation's young and the emptying of both national treasuries.
It wasn't long before the Cold War saw American occupying parts of Asia and Africa. The outcome is well-known, a war that nearly tore the nation apart.
Suffering from post Vietnam stress, the nation was offered drugs, sex, and rock' in roll to drown it grief. Hollywood, Madison Avenue, and the music industry was retooled with the latest in electronics, computer technology, and behavioral sciences for the essential role it was about to play in the usurpation of the minds of the American public.
Corporations had come of age by the 1950's and their appetite for profit married them to politics. It wasn't long before, they linked their future survival with that of U.S. laws and domestic policy. The line separating the business from politics became blurred, as it became necessary for the candidates to raise tremendous sums of money.
But, as the sixties dawned, it became clear to the corporate world, the future hinged ..ling the expenditure of the U.S. government. Military spending alone accounted for 26.6 percent of the budget. President Eisenhower warned the American people of the danger of the Military Industrial Complex. He saw, but was powerless to stop, creeping inflation and soaring budgets as a means of robbing the public.
John Fitzgerald Kennedy was assassinated because he took Eisenhower's words to heart. Joe Kennedy, father of the president and Attorney General of the United States, was ordered to call off his sons or else.
But, the older one was headstrong and he went along with his plan to pull the U.S. out of Southeast Asia, close military bases in various states across America, acts that angered many in the Pentagon. Kennedy realized the threat to American sovereignty after being maneuvered into the Bay of Pigs by the Pentagon and the CIA.
After refusing to give the orders for a full-scale invasion of Cuba, he tried to appease the forces that wanted a confrontation with the Russians. With members of the secret order of the snake cellularized throughout the Washington bureaucracy and members of the inner circle taking their orders from powers outside the U.S., the Cuban spy plane incidence was nearly escalated into World War III.
Kennedy called for the resignation of a number of generals who he discovered was undermining his authority as president. In a bold and dangerous move, he started to decentralize the CIA, in affect, dismantling the agency. Orders soon came down that he had to go. A coup was soon carried out right under the noses of the American people.
America was being torn apart at the seams, with a growing movements demonstrating acts of civil disobedience. Seeing the establishment as the enemy, they demanded an end to the war, an end to the destruction to the environment and an end to the dehumanization and alienation of the American people.
Over the next thirty years, the nation slide deeper into a pit of immorality, degradation, and material obsession. Misinformation and propaganda has succeeded at silencing the voice of the sixties.
With the fall of the U.S.S.R, America alone shouldered the awesome responsibility of being the world's only superpower. While America sought to police the world, the world grew more cognitive of her motives, more envious of her wealth, and more critical of her hypocritical foreign policies.
Terrorist and anarchist filled in the vacuum created by the fall of Red Menace. Hijacking Islam, they used threats of mass murder to force wealthy nations of the West to overextend themselves by appropriating larger and larger sums of their gross national product for security and less to productivity.
The invasion of Iraq played right into the hands of the terrorist, when Iran were the greater threat to world peace. The U.S. would discover that too late, as Iran teamed with Syria and continued to export suicide bombings, kidnappings, and weapon of mass destruction.
With Syria's and Iran's support, Sunni insurgencies stepped up their assault on coalition forces. The dark forces of Europe worked hard at turning America's former allies against her. With the exception of Britain and Israel, American alone in the quagmire. The backlash shouldn't have come as a surprise.
The Stranger
The Stranger
By
James. A. Hall
The scout motioned from up ahead, and the armed team forged up the winding trail. Though carrying a wounded comrade, their movements were stealth-like. A deep sable sky offered a pale moon and steady wind rattled the trees and combed back the tall grass.
A force of twenty paused near the top of the hill, in sight of a pasty old edifice. Their eyes scanned the stylishly detailed windows for the subtlest of movements. Their ears sifted the light breeze for even a whisper. Keeping formation, they moved like phantoms to the side entrance of the safe house.
Strategically spaced, the motley-attired team entered the house. By unit, they searched the cobwebbed and splintered old mansion. Their blue laser beams of light crisscrossed the darkness like the light sabers. With the house swept clean, their movements became relaxed.
The kalunking of their heavy boots against the hardwood floors resonated throughout the ground floor. The house was empty except for a few sticks of dusty furniture, which seemed as out place in the elegant old manor as sandwiches at an opera.
The group, in workman-like fashion, fortified the windows with wooden planks and bolted the doors with 2x4s’. With the points of entry sealed, they spread out their backpacks, weapons and sleeping bags over the ballroom floor.
Finally, their wounded comrade was bedded down upstairs, the fireplace was lit and supper was prepared. Rations consisted of stale bread, vegetable broth, and water. Tristan, tall, blond, and strapping, paced while the others ate. He was also the only one still holding on to his weapon. Twice he peeked through the firing slits in the planks.
“Monroe, after you and Mooch finish, I need you to get upstairs and relieve Lee and Asija. They need to get some of this chow. Monroe, a pit bull of a man, threw down the last of his meal and rose from the floor.
“Tristan, maybe we shouldn’t stay the night,” whined Monroe. “This place gives me the creeps.”
“Monroe, we’ll be fine here. Besides, we got a wounded man.”
“But, Monrovia’s secret police have killed or captured everyone associated with the underground. If the police can’t get them to give us up, there’s Monrovia. Some say that she can read minds.”
“If she could read minds, don’t you think her assassins would’ve been waiting for us when we arrived,” answered Tristan. Tristan’s response left Monroe scratching his head.
“Monroe, it’s going to be okay,” interrupted Isabella. Monrovia’s surveillance crafts and spy cams will locate us before she has to call on her telepathic powers.” Monroe, face stoic, searched Isabella’s face. Realizing that she was joining, Monroe belted out a hearty laugh. The others soon joined him.
Isabella was a stunning beauty with a long, dark tress that she wore in ponytail. Her velvety soft skin was the color of the Sahara and her eyes were as soothing as a summer drizzle. Isabella was peculiar mixture of tomboy and Sunday school teacher. Still chuckling, Monroe motioned to Mooch to follow him upstairs. Tristan and Isabella exchanged long glances before Tristan grabbed up a bowl of broth and sat down to eat.
After the fire died down, the group bedded down for the night. Suddenly, a tapping sound, mimicking the cadence of a dripping faucet, pieced the sack time chatter. Sitting up, they stared at each other. Then, just like that, the sound was gone. But, before they could relax back into their calm uneasiness, there it was again. The group sprang to their feet, clutching their weapons.
Tristan gestured with his weapon in the direction of the dinning room. By candlelight, Tristan crept across the room, snatching up a flashlight as he went. The others followed, spread out behind him. Stopping just short of the doorway, Tristan pointed to Lee and Asija, who had just descended the stairs and was closest to the connecting door. Tristan silently counted to three, and he, Lee and Asija charged the room, the muzzles of their guns casting blue shafts of light.
The room was still more shadow than substance. No one had spotted the blanketed shape occupying the far corner. Isabella then entered with a large candle, peeling back the shadows.
“It would seem that we have a guest,” Tristan whispered, moving on the balls of his feet toward the threat. Guns pointed, the group closed in.
“Whoever you are, show yourself. You have nothing to fear from us.” As they closed in, it became apparent that it wasn’t a blanket at all, but someone clothed in a hooded robe. “Trent, you and De Andre have a look outside,” ordered Tristan. “And, tell Monroe to keep his eyes open.”
Tristan had inched to within arms distance as the others fanned out to the sides. Just as he was about to reach out and prod the robe with the nose of his weapon, it moaned to life. The stranger, still shrouded, attempted to stand. After several tries, the intruder lapsed back against the wall.
“I think he’s hurt,” said Lee.
“Maybe he’s wounded,” posed Asija.
“He’s not hurt or wounded, you dopes,” Isabella insisted. “Can’t you see he’s just an old man?” There was a collective sigh as their automatic weapons descended to their sides. Isabella pushed pass Tristan and the others and went and kneeled down beside the stranger. “No one is going to hurt you. Are you able to talk? The men nodded and slowly removed his hood.
His skin was chestnut-brown, and his hair cloud white.
“Well, what are all you gawking at?” asked Isabella. “You act like you’ve never seen an old man. Come; let’s get you in the other room where it’s warm. Are you able to walk?”
“Yes,” the man murmured. Gently, Isabella helped the stranger to his feet. The man’s movements were steady, but hunched and slow. Reaching the fire, she helped him into a old chair. The glowing light exposed an elderly, but gently aged face. His sharp eyes scanned the curious faces. Then he lowered his gaze to the floor as if he had grown tire of the scenery.
Isabella retrieved a bowl of lukewarm broth and hunk of bread. The stranger’s hands shuddered as he reached for the bowl.
“What are you doing giving him our food. We may be here for some time.” Isabella bushed Tristan’s comment off with a raised eyebrow. Annoyed, Tristan turned his attention to the old man. “Who are you and where did you come from?”
“Tristan, can’t this wait?” asked Isabella.
“Have it your way, but when he’s finished, he going to answer some questions. We can’t trust anyone. All of our lives are at stake. His being here is poses a problem. What do I do with him now? If I allow him to leave, he could talk. And, I can afford to assign a man to watch him twenty-four hours a day.
“He’s just an old man, Tristan. Besides…” Isabella paused, looking off for a split second. “I…I feel like we’ve met before.” She shook her head slightly, realizing how peculiar her words must have sounded.
“Oh, that’s just great. We should all feel reassured because you seen his face in a crowd somewhere. That cinches it then. He will be secured in the hall bathroom for the night…until we figure out what to do with him. Unless, of course, he identifies himself and tell us what he’s doing here. We searched the house from top to bottom. It was empty. Then, he just appears. No, there’s something not right here.
“What if he’s a Mystic?” added Asija.
“Then let him render something and I’ll let him go free,” answered Tristan, mockingly.
“You are consumed with anger, son?” muttered the old man, looking up from his broth. “Eliminate your fears, and you anger will disappear.”
Tristan, with scornful eyes, turned back to the old man. “After the Messiah pulled the nation back from the edge of the abyss, there was peace and plenty. The council, led by Mother Valora, kept the master’s word sacred. Under her spiritual leadership the nation flourished. Utopia was achieved. Each citizen was free to live and worship as he or she pleased. But, that has changed with the coming of Monrovia, the master’s unholy seed.
“Using her remarkable powers of persuasion, she has subjugated the will of the council. She has intimidated them into acquiescing to her twisted ambitions. By her thirtieth birthday, she had usurped the supremacy of the council and launched her reign of terror.
“Her first act was to expand the state police, including death quads. She outlawed all books, particularly books of faith. In the place of knowledge she substituted her own Declarations, a corrupted version of her father teachings. Her state police have arrest or killed anyone who disagreed with her actions, many of which were friends of ours. One of my people is upstairs with a bullet in her, courtesy of Monrovia’s goons. It’s even rumored that she’s aligned herself with dark powers, that she performs unholy rites.
“The land has fallen as barren as her heart. Where there were once ceaseless harvests, there are now state rations. The return of hunger and poverty has summoned the most visceral demons of our past, crime and murder. To display works of art or bare religious symbols is an offense punishable by death. With each passing day, the nation sinks deeper into despair. So, pardon me for being a little angry.
“Tristan, we all feel the same way or we wouldn’t be here,” Isabella broke in. “But, this old man is a victim the same as we. The only chance we have is to appeal to all those weary of a programmed existence, where every hour of our day is planned, where spiritual reflection and mediation has been replaced with mass ceremonies glorifying her name. Remember, the book that we found in last year?
“You mean the book featuring the girl, Dorothy, and her traveling companions,” answered Tristan. “How can we forget? You won’t let us. And, at the end of their spiritual journey, they discovered that the holy man was a false prophet.”
“Naturally, you would forget the most important part of the story,” Isabella pointed out. “In the end, they learned that they held the power all along. That is what the Master taught: it is done unto you as you believe. Maybe that is what the stranger is trying to say.”
“Yes, but, I’m no tin man and you’re no Dorothy. And what’s more, there is no wizard. But, what we do have is a wicked witch, Monrovia. And like the witch in the story, her powers are real.”
“Has any of you every seen her?,” the stranger asked. The stranger’s question drew chuckles from Tristan and some of the others.
“Yeah, we’ve dined in the palace on many occasions,” kidded Tristan. Everyone but Isabella exploded with laughter. But, their mirth was violently interrupted by jarring rumble followed by a burst of lightening. Tristan’s face grew solemn. “No one has laid eyes on her in 10 years. She never leaves the citadel she calls a palace. Her wicked deeds are all committed by a proxy, a dark, villainous man.” Pivoting around, Tristan pointed to a Munoz, a lanky boy still in his teens. “Tell Trent and De Andre to get inside. I want them posted upstairs. First the old man, then the storm. Some coincidence.”
“There is no such thing,” asserted the stranger.
“What are you talking about old man,” barked Tristan.
“There is no such thing as a coincidence. Everything happens for a reason,” responded the old man.
“I’ve had about enough of you. You remain heedless to our questions, and yet you speak when no one cares to hear your thoughts. For years the spiritual centers crammed that nonsense into our minds. We don’t need it from you.”
“Maybe, the message is sound, but your spirit is unwilling,” said the stranger.
Tristan, losing control, stomped toward the old man. Isabella stepped between them. “The stranger is not a threat,” she whispered.
“And, exactly how do you know this, Isabella?” asked Tristan, regaining his composure.
“It’s like I’ve known him all my life.”
“Oh, you know him, now. Be careful, Isabella. Next, you’ll be telling us that this old man is the Master returned to liberated the nation from the clutches of his evil and tyrannical daughter.”
“You will not bait me into another conversation on the Messiah.”
“The Messiah lives,” proclaimed the stranger, robustly.”
“Ah, he wades in again,” Tristan balked. “And, what can you possibly know that we don’t?”
“I know that the fifth messenger lives.” I further know that he has a second daughter. Flora, his wife, gave birth to a set of twins.”
This time there was no laughter. “You are all as bad as Isabella,” admonished Tristan. “This old man knows nothing. He’s just a vagrant. He is just one of the millions that the Monrovia’s propaganda machine claims to not exist. Everyone knows that the Messiah had but one child.” Tristan’s words failed to recapture the group’s attention, as their eyes never left the stranger.
Isabella cleared her throat before speaking. “What he says maybe true. There has always been quiet talk of a identical twin. You’ve heard the rumors yourself, Tristan.” Tristan was about to speak when Monroe called from the top of the stairs.
“Isabella, it’s Kendra. You better get up here.”
The group stormed up the stairs, all but Asija who was left behind to guard the prisoner. Isabella rushed to the side of her wounded comrade. Kendra had learned of the imminent crackdown and risked her life warning Tristan and Isabella. She succeeded, but only after taking a bullet in the side.
“I tried to wake her to see if he wanted to eat, but he wouldn’t respond,” said Monroe. Isabella grabbed a towel and basin off the nightstand.
“She burning up with fever,” Isabella declared, dabbing her friend’s forehead with the wet towel. “And, I’m afraid that she’s gone into shock. Maybe if we had with some antibiotics…”
“She’s dying,” interrupted the stranger crossing the threshold. Isabella continued pressing the cool compact to Kendra’s face.
“How did you get up here?” Tristan asked, his forehead undulated and his eyes knitted. Then Asija appeared in the doorway, slightly winded. “I turned my back for a second and he was gone. But, it was no way he could have made it up the stairs this quickly. I told you that he’s a Mystic.”
“Who are you, stranger,” Isabella asked, looking up from her feverish patient. Her question went ignored as the stranger proceeded to the side of the bed opposite her. He touched his palms to the wounded woman’s forehead and then ran both hands down the length of her body. “The bullet has torn into his vital organs and she’s bleeding internally.”
“We must get her to one of the spiritual health centers!” Isabella insisted.
“She will be dead before morning unless…” The old man stopped.
“Monroe, lock the old man in the bathroom for the night,” Tristan ordered, with disgust. “In the morning, I will take a team and see if we can scrounge up some medical supplies,” he said, looking at Isabella.
“What if the stranger is right?” asked Isabella. Tristan just shook his head and walked from the room.
That night while everyone except the lookouts was asleep, Isabella visited the old man.
“Without being seen, she slipped into the bath room. Once inside, she lit a candle. The old man was sitting up in the dark, as if he had been waiting for her.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he said.
“I came to apologize for Tristan. He wasn’t always the man you see. When we joined the underground, it was just to put out a crude newspaper. It was our way of fighting back. But, when Monrovia began her crackdown, we were forced to defend ourselves. We were all dreadfully inexperienced when it came to weapons and tactics. However, Tristan had an undiscovered talent. He instantly took charge. Under him and with support from the underground, we formed a cell. It was during this time that Tristan’s mood darkened and his devotion to the master’s teachings faltered. However, I have another reason for coming.
“I know why you came, Isabella. All things are possible if one has enough faith. Isn’t this what the master taught, and are these not the words of the Carpenter who preceded him. Man is divine by his very nature. His thoughts tie him to the Universal Mind, which is all of existence. What man pours into the Great Void will be returned to him. Therefore, our true enemies are our very own fears, doubts and disbelief. You, my sister, can summon the supreme agency that lives in the realm of infinite possibilities if you but slay these three demons.
“You tell me nothing new, stranger. The spiritual centers and meditative retreats taught us that since we were old enough to attend.”
“That’s just it. It has been taught to you, instead of being demonstrated for you. As a consequence, the truth of the Master’s words has lost its spiritual vitality. Its true meaning has been lost. After the Master departed, Mother Valora lead the way, encouraging the practice of her son’s teachings as it spread throughout the world. However, she resisted direct interference. She understood that the son’s message was a mighty as the ocean, yet as delicate as a drop of dew on the rim of a rose pedal. That is, it couldn’t be institutionalized in the tradition of world religions.
Nations thought that they were fostering the Messiah’s teachings, when in reality they were suppressing them. Mother Valora with the help of the Mystics waded in to stem the tide. Nonetheless, schools, churches, and spiritual centers grew more dogmatic, their religious hierarchies growing in power and corruption. After her death, the Mystics soon withdrew to the mountains, practicing the teachings of the Messiah in seclusion.”
“Are you a Mystic?”
“No.”
“Can you save our friend?”
“No, but you can.”
“How, I harbor the same fears as Tristan and the others?”
“How long have you known your friend?”
“I’ve known Kendra all my life. She’s been like a sister to me.”
“Do you love her?”
“Yes, as much as I love myself,” Isabella answered, her eyes teeming.
“Your love will be enough. Go to your friend and pray over her. Visualize her as she once was. Let your love for her open the door to infinite possibility. Isabella went and kneed beside you dying friend and prayed throughout the night.
Tristan entered the room the next morning to find Isabella’s head resting on the foot of Kendra’s bed.
“Isabella, wake up. We’re about to take off: I want you in charge. Several others entered just after him.
“There is no need to go?” she said, stretching and wiping the sleep from her eyes.
“What are you saying? Is she…?” All eyes turned to Kendra.
“No, she’s not. Her fever has subsided and her pulse is growing stronger. She will be fine.” Just as she said that, Kendra’s fingers curled into a fist. Isabella smiled as Tristan, Monroe, Mooch, and Trent looked on in amazement.
“The old man’s prognosis was wrong,” added Tristan.
“No, his diagnosis was accurate. She was dying. He told me to pray for her. When I entered the room, her pulse rate was close to critical. And, there’s more. As I slept, I dreamed of Monrovia’s secret police. They have found us. Already, they’re swarming the hillside.” Before Tristan could fix his mouth to speak, Lee bolted into the room.
“Tristan, there is movement outside. I think that they’ve found us.” Tristan gazed long and hard at Isabella before he turned back Lee.
“I want everyone in position while I work out a plan of escape. Oh, and bring me the old man. Before Lee could relay his leader’s orders, an explosion jarred the house to its foundation.
“Tell everyone to get up here. It’s our only chance,” Isabella said, calmly yet resolutely.” Tristan stared at her unblinking, and then he looked over at Kendra. Her eyes were beginning to flutter open.
“Do as she says, yelled Tristan, after some hesitation. Lee tore from the room.
The entire group crammed into the room, deep concern on their faces. “They’ve blasted away the south wall, reported Monroe. “They’ll be pouring in soon enough. Up here, we trapped like rats. What do we do now?” Tristan asked gazing over at Isabella.
The sound of machine gun fire erupted. The group clutched their weapons as all eyes turned to the door. “Lay down your weapons,” said Isabella. The group stood motionless and confused.
“Do as she said,” Tristan commanded. One by one the heavy armaments hit the floor with multiple thuds.
“Are we surrendering” Monroe asked fretfully.
“On the contrary,” said the stranger, appearing in the doorway. Let us join hands in a circle.” Isabella was the first to reach out to the others. Soon they had formed a circle around the bed with Isabella holding one of Kendra’s hands and Tristan holding the other. “Now, close you eyes and visualize the house the way we found it last night,” the stranger instructed. “Visualize the house as it was. See only that which was here when you arrived.”
The sound of heavy boots echoed up through the floor. Sporadic burst of gunfire rattled the walls and floors. Several men pulled away and gathered up their weapons. Not even Tristan could deter them from the course of self-preservation. Then Isabella gently called to them.
“My brothers, our guns will not save us now. It is only by our faith shall we be saved. Come now, join us.” Isabella, with the gentleness of a saint, reached out her hand. One after another, they relinquished their weapons and returned to the circle. The sound of boots rushing up their stairs failed to unnerve them this time. A few feet from the bedroom, they footsteps fell silent. Moments pass before they began to open their eyes.
Monroe was the first through the door. “They’ve gone,” he yelled, jubilantly.
No, they were never here,” said Isabella.
Downstairs they found the house was as it had been the night before. There was no sign of an explosion, or gunfire. It was if they had dreamed up the attack. Their bags were even packed. Then, they realized that the stranger was missing.
“Search the house for the…” began Tristan.
“Don’t bother, he’s gone,” interrupted Isabella.
“What’s next, Tristan asked, looking at Isabella.
“We must go. The stranger gave us a mission.”
“What are you saying? What mission?”
“We must find Monrovia’s twin.” With that, the group followed Isabella out the front door and down the trail.
By
James. A. Hall
The scout motioned from up ahead, and the armed team forged up the winding trail. Though carrying a wounded comrade, their movements were stealth-like. A deep sable sky offered a pale moon and steady wind rattled the trees and combed back the tall grass.
A force of twenty paused near the top of the hill, in sight of a pasty old edifice. Their eyes scanned the stylishly detailed windows for the subtlest of movements. Their ears sifted the light breeze for even a whisper. Keeping formation, they moved like phantoms to the side entrance of the safe house.
Strategically spaced, the motley-attired team entered the house. By unit, they searched the cobwebbed and splintered old mansion. Their blue laser beams of light crisscrossed the darkness like the light sabers. With the house swept clean, their movements became relaxed.
The kalunking of their heavy boots against the hardwood floors resonated throughout the ground floor. The house was empty except for a few sticks of dusty furniture, which seemed as out place in the elegant old manor as sandwiches at an opera.
The group, in workman-like fashion, fortified the windows with wooden planks and bolted the doors with 2x4s’. With the points of entry sealed, they spread out their backpacks, weapons and sleeping bags over the ballroom floor.
Finally, their wounded comrade was bedded down upstairs, the fireplace was lit and supper was prepared. Rations consisted of stale bread, vegetable broth, and water. Tristan, tall, blond, and strapping, paced while the others ate. He was also the only one still holding on to his weapon. Twice he peeked through the firing slits in the planks.
“Monroe, after you and Mooch finish, I need you to get upstairs and relieve Lee and Asija. They need to get some of this chow. Monroe, a pit bull of a man, threw down the last of his meal and rose from the floor.
“Tristan, maybe we shouldn’t stay the night,” whined Monroe. “This place gives me the creeps.”
“Monroe, we’ll be fine here. Besides, we got a wounded man.”
“But, Monrovia’s secret police have killed or captured everyone associated with the underground. If the police can’t get them to give us up, there’s Monrovia. Some say that she can read minds.”
“If she could read minds, don’t you think her assassins would’ve been waiting for us when we arrived,” answered Tristan. Tristan’s response left Monroe scratching his head.
“Monroe, it’s going to be okay,” interrupted Isabella. Monrovia’s surveillance crafts and spy cams will locate us before she has to call on her telepathic powers.” Monroe, face stoic, searched Isabella’s face. Realizing that she was joining, Monroe belted out a hearty laugh. The others soon joined him.
Isabella was a stunning beauty with a long, dark tress that she wore in ponytail. Her velvety soft skin was the color of the Sahara and her eyes were as soothing as a summer drizzle. Isabella was peculiar mixture of tomboy and Sunday school teacher. Still chuckling, Monroe motioned to Mooch to follow him upstairs. Tristan and Isabella exchanged long glances before Tristan grabbed up a bowl of broth and sat down to eat.
After the fire died down, the group bedded down for the night. Suddenly, a tapping sound, mimicking the cadence of a dripping faucet, pieced the sack time chatter. Sitting up, they stared at each other. Then, just like that, the sound was gone. But, before they could relax back into their calm uneasiness, there it was again. The group sprang to their feet, clutching their weapons.
Tristan gestured with his weapon in the direction of the dinning room. By candlelight, Tristan crept across the room, snatching up a flashlight as he went. The others followed, spread out behind him. Stopping just short of the doorway, Tristan pointed to Lee and Asija, who had just descended the stairs and was closest to the connecting door. Tristan silently counted to three, and he, Lee and Asija charged the room, the muzzles of their guns casting blue shafts of light.
The room was still more shadow than substance. No one had spotted the blanketed shape occupying the far corner. Isabella then entered with a large candle, peeling back the shadows.
“It would seem that we have a guest,” Tristan whispered, moving on the balls of his feet toward the threat. Guns pointed, the group closed in.
“Whoever you are, show yourself. You have nothing to fear from us.” As they closed in, it became apparent that it wasn’t a blanket at all, but someone clothed in a hooded robe. “Trent, you and De Andre have a look outside,” ordered Tristan. “And, tell Monroe to keep his eyes open.”
Tristan had inched to within arms distance as the others fanned out to the sides. Just as he was about to reach out and prod the robe with the nose of his weapon, it moaned to life. The stranger, still shrouded, attempted to stand. After several tries, the intruder lapsed back against the wall.
“I think he’s hurt,” said Lee.
“Maybe he’s wounded,” posed Asija.
“He’s not hurt or wounded, you dopes,” Isabella insisted. “Can’t you see he’s just an old man?” There was a collective sigh as their automatic weapons descended to their sides. Isabella pushed pass Tristan and the others and went and kneeled down beside the stranger. “No one is going to hurt you. Are you able to talk? The men nodded and slowly removed his hood.
His skin was chestnut-brown, and his hair cloud white.
“Well, what are all you gawking at?” asked Isabella. “You act like you’ve never seen an old man. Come; let’s get you in the other room where it’s warm. Are you able to walk?”
“Yes,” the man murmured. Gently, Isabella helped the stranger to his feet. The man’s movements were steady, but hunched and slow. Reaching the fire, she helped him into a old chair. The glowing light exposed an elderly, but gently aged face. His sharp eyes scanned the curious faces. Then he lowered his gaze to the floor as if he had grown tire of the scenery.
Isabella retrieved a bowl of lukewarm broth and hunk of bread. The stranger’s hands shuddered as he reached for the bowl.
“What are you doing giving him our food. We may be here for some time.” Isabella bushed Tristan’s comment off with a raised eyebrow. Annoyed, Tristan turned his attention to the old man. “Who are you and where did you come from?”
“Tristan, can’t this wait?” asked Isabella.
“Have it your way, but when he’s finished, he going to answer some questions. We can’t trust anyone. All of our lives are at stake. His being here is poses a problem. What do I do with him now? If I allow him to leave, he could talk. And, I can afford to assign a man to watch him twenty-four hours a day.
“He’s just an old man, Tristan. Besides…” Isabella paused, looking off for a split second. “I…I feel like we’ve met before.” She shook her head slightly, realizing how peculiar her words must have sounded.
“Oh, that’s just great. We should all feel reassured because you seen his face in a crowd somewhere. That cinches it then. He will be secured in the hall bathroom for the night…until we figure out what to do with him. Unless, of course, he identifies himself and tell us what he’s doing here. We searched the house from top to bottom. It was empty. Then, he just appears. No, there’s something not right here.
“What if he’s a Mystic?” added Asija.
“Then let him render something and I’ll let him go free,” answered Tristan, mockingly.
“You are consumed with anger, son?” muttered the old man, looking up from his broth. “Eliminate your fears, and you anger will disappear.”
Tristan, with scornful eyes, turned back to the old man. “After the Messiah pulled the nation back from the edge of the abyss, there was peace and plenty. The council, led by Mother Valora, kept the master’s word sacred. Under her spiritual leadership the nation flourished. Utopia was achieved. Each citizen was free to live and worship as he or she pleased. But, that has changed with the coming of Monrovia, the master’s unholy seed.
“Using her remarkable powers of persuasion, she has subjugated the will of the council. She has intimidated them into acquiescing to her twisted ambitions. By her thirtieth birthday, she had usurped the supremacy of the council and launched her reign of terror.
“Her first act was to expand the state police, including death quads. She outlawed all books, particularly books of faith. In the place of knowledge she substituted her own Declarations, a corrupted version of her father teachings. Her state police have arrest or killed anyone who disagreed with her actions, many of which were friends of ours. One of my people is upstairs with a bullet in her, courtesy of Monrovia’s goons. It’s even rumored that she’s aligned herself with dark powers, that she performs unholy rites.
“The land has fallen as barren as her heart. Where there were once ceaseless harvests, there are now state rations. The return of hunger and poverty has summoned the most visceral demons of our past, crime and murder. To display works of art or bare religious symbols is an offense punishable by death. With each passing day, the nation sinks deeper into despair. So, pardon me for being a little angry.
“Tristan, we all feel the same way or we wouldn’t be here,” Isabella broke in. “But, this old man is a victim the same as we. The only chance we have is to appeal to all those weary of a programmed existence, where every hour of our day is planned, where spiritual reflection and mediation has been replaced with mass ceremonies glorifying her name. Remember, the book that we found in last year?
“You mean the book featuring the girl, Dorothy, and her traveling companions,” answered Tristan. “How can we forget? You won’t let us. And, at the end of their spiritual journey, they discovered that the holy man was a false prophet.”
“Naturally, you would forget the most important part of the story,” Isabella pointed out. “In the end, they learned that they held the power all along. That is what the Master taught: it is done unto you as you believe. Maybe that is what the stranger is trying to say.”
“Yes, but, I’m no tin man and you’re no Dorothy. And what’s more, there is no wizard. But, what we do have is a wicked witch, Monrovia. And like the witch in the story, her powers are real.”
“Has any of you every seen her?,” the stranger asked. The stranger’s question drew chuckles from Tristan and some of the others.
“Yeah, we’ve dined in the palace on many occasions,” kidded Tristan. Everyone but Isabella exploded with laughter. But, their mirth was violently interrupted by jarring rumble followed by a burst of lightening. Tristan’s face grew solemn. “No one has laid eyes on her in 10 years. She never leaves the citadel she calls a palace. Her wicked deeds are all committed by a proxy, a dark, villainous man.” Pivoting around, Tristan pointed to a Munoz, a lanky boy still in his teens. “Tell Trent and De Andre to get inside. I want them posted upstairs. First the old man, then the storm. Some coincidence.”
“There is no such thing,” asserted the stranger.
“What are you talking about old man,” barked Tristan.
“There is no such thing as a coincidence. Everything happens for a reason,” responded the old man.
“I’ve had about enough of you. You remain heedless to our questions, and yet you speak when no one cares to hear your thoughts. For years the spiritual centers crammed that nonsense into our minds. We don’t need it from you.”
“Maybe, the message is sound, but your spirit is unwilling,” said the stranger.
Tristan, losing control, stomped toward the old man. Isabella stepped between them. “The stranger is not a threat,” she whispered.
“And, exactly how do you know this, Isabella?” asked Tristan, regaining his composure.
“It’s like I’ve known him all my life.”
“Oh, you know him, now. Be careful, Isabella. Next, you’ll be telling us that this old man is the Master returned to liberated the nation from the clutches of his evil and tyrannical daughter.”
“You will not bait me into another conversation on the Messiah.”
“The Messiah lives,” proclaimed the stranger, robustly.”
“Ah, he wades in again,” Tristan balked. “And, what can you possibly know that we don’t?”
“I know that the fifth messenger lives.” I further know that he has a second daughter. Flora, his wife, gave birth to a set of twins.”
This time there was no laughter. “You are all as bad as Isabella,” admonished Tristan. “This old man knows nothing. He’s just a vagrant. He is just one of the millions that the Monrovia’s propaganda machine claims to not exist. Everyone knows that the Messiah had but one child.” Tristan’s words failed to recapture the group’s attention, as their eyes never left the stranger.
Isabella cleared her throat before speaking. “What he says maybe true. There has always been quiet talk of a identical twin. You’ve heard the rumors yourself, Tristan.” Tristan was about to speak when Monroe called from the top of the stairs.
“Isabella, it’s Kendra. You better get up here.”
The group stormed up the stairs, all but Asija who was left behind to guard the prisoner. Isabella rushed to the side of her wounded comrade. Kendra had learned of the imminent crackdown and risked her life warning Tristan and Isabella. She succeeded, but only after taking a bullet in the side.
“I tried to wake her to see if he wanted to eat, but he wouldn’t respond,” said Monroe. Isabella grabbed a towel and basin off the nightstand.
“She burning up with fever,” Isabella declared, dabbing her friend’s forehead with the wet towel. “And, I’m afraid that she’s gone into shock. Maybe if we had with some antibiotics…”
“She’s dying,” interrupted the stranger crossing the threshold. Isabella continued pressing the cool compact to Kendra’s face.
“How did you get up here?” Tristan asked, his forehead undulated and his eyes knitted. Then Asija appeared in the doorway, slightly winded. “I turned my back for a second and he was gone. But, it was no way he could have made it up the stairs this quickly. I told you that he’s a Mystic.”
“Who are you, stranger,” Isabella asked, looking up from her feverish patient. Her question went ignored as the stranger proceeded to the side of the bed opposite her. He touched his palms to the wounded woman’s forehead and then ran both hands down the length of her body. “The bullet has torn into his vital organs and she’s bleeding internally.”
“We must get her to one of the spiritual health centers!” Isabella insisted.
“She will be dead before morning unless…” The old man stopped.
“Monroe, lock the old man in the bathroom for the night,” Tristan ordered, with disgust. “In the morning, I will take a team and see if we can scrounge up some medical supplies,” he said, looking at Isabella.
“What if the stranger is right?” asked Isabella. Tristan just shook his head and walked from the room.
That night while everyone except the lookouts was asleep, Isabella visited the old man.
“Without being seen, she slipped into the bath room. Once inside, she lit a candle. The old man was sitting up in the dark, as if he had been waiting for her.
“I’ve been expecting you,” he said.
“I came to apologize for Tristan. He wasn’t always the man you see. When we joined the underground, it was just to put out a crude newspaper. It was our way of fighting back. But, when Monrovia began her crackdown, we were forced to defend ourselves. We were all dreadfully inexperienced when it came to weapons and tactics. However, Tristan had an undiscovered talent. He instantly took charge. Under him and with support from the underground, we formed a cell. It was during this time that Tristan’s mood darkened and his devotion to the master’s teachings faltered. However, I have another reason for coming.
“I know why you came, Isabella. All things are possible if one has enough faith. Isn’t this what the master taught, and are these not the words of the Carpenter who preceded him. Man is divine by his very nature. His thoughts tie him to the Universal Mind, which is all of existence. What man pours into the Great Void will be returned to him. Therefore, our true enemies are our very own fears, doubts and disbelief. You, my sister, can summon the supreme agency that lives in the realm of infinite possibilities if you but slay these three demons.
“You tell me nothing new, stranger. The spiritual centers and meditative retreats taught us that since we were old enough to attend.”
“That’s just it. It has been taught to you, instead of being demonstrated for you. As a consequence, the truth of the Master’s words has lost its spiritual vitality. Its true meaning has been lost. After the Master departed, Mother Valora lead the way, encouraging the practice of her son’s teachings as it spread throughout the world. However, she resisted direct interference. She understood that the son’s message was a mighty as the ocean, yet as delicate as a drop of dew on the rim of a rose pedal. That is, it couldn’t be institutionalized in the tradition of world religions.
Nations thought that they were fostering the Messiah’s teachings, when in reality they were suppressing them. Mother Valora with the help of the Mystics waded in to stem the tide. Nonetheless, schools, churches, and spiritual centers grew more dogmatic, their religious hierarchies growing in power and corruption. After her death, the Mystics soon withdrew to the mountains, practicing the teachings of the Messiah in seclusion.”
“Are you a Mystic?”
“No.”
“Can you save our friend?”
“No, but you can.”
“How, I harbor the same fears as Tristan and the others?”
“How long have you known your friend?”
“I’ve known Kendra all my life. She’s been like a sister to me.”
“Do you love her?”
“Yes, as much as I love myself,” Isabella answered, her eyes teeming.
“Your love will be enough. Go to your friend and pray over her. Visualize her as she once was. Let your love for her open the door to infinite possibility. Isabella went and kneed beside you dying friend and prayed throughout the night.
Tristan entered the room the next morning to find Isabella’s head resting on the foot of Kendra’s bed.
“Isabella, wake up. We’re about to take off: I want you in charge. Several others entered just after him.
“There is no need to go?” she said, stretching and wiping the sleep from her eyes.
“What are you saying? Is she…?” All eyes turned to Kendra.
“No, she’s not. Her fever has subsided and her pulse is growing stronger. She will be fine.” Just as she said that, Kendra’s fingers curled into a fist. Isabella smiled as Tristan, Monroe, Mooch, and Trent looked on in amazement.
“The old man’s prognosis was wrong,” added Tristan.
“No, his diagnosis was accurate. She was dying. He told me to pray for her. When I entered the room, her pulse rate was close to critical. And, there’s more. As I slept, I dreamed of Monrovia’s secret police. They have found us. Already, they’re swarming the hillside.” Before Tristan could fix his mouth to speak, Lee bolted into the room.
“Tristan, there is movement outside. I think that they’ve found us.” Tristan gazed long and hard at Isabella before he turned back Lee.
“I want everyone in position while I work out a plan of escape. Oh, and bring me the old man. Before Lee could relay his leader’s orders, an explosion jarred the house to its foundation.
“Tell everyone to get up here. It’s our only chance,” Isabella said, calmly yet resolutely.” Tristan stared at her unblinking, and then he looked over at Kendra. Her eyes were beginning to flutter open.
“Do as she says, yelled Tristan, after some hesitation. Lee tore from the room.
The entire group crammed into the room, deep concern on their faces. “They’ve blasted away the south wall, reported Monroe. “They’ll be pouring in soon enough. Up here, we trapped like rats. What do we do now?” Tristan asked gazing over at Isabella.
The sound of machine gun fire erupted. The group clutched their weapons as all eyes turned to the door. “Lay down your weapons,” said Isabella. The group stood motionless and confused.
“Do as she said,” Tristan commanded. One by one the heavy armaments hit the floor with multiple thuds.
“Are we surrendering” Monroe asked fretfully.
“On the contrary,” said the stranger, appearing in the doorway. Let us join hands in a circle.” Isabella was the first to reach out to the others. Soon they had formed a circle around the bed with Isabella holding one of Kendra’s hands and Tristan holding the other. “Now, close you eyes and visualize the house the way we found it last night,” the stranger instructed. “Visualize the house as it was. See only that which was here when you arrived.”
The sound of heavy boots echoed up through the floor. Sporadic burst of gunfire rattled the walls and floors. Several men pulled away and gathered up their weapons. Not even Tristan could deter them from the course of self-preservation. Then Isabella gently called to them.
“My brothers, our guns will not save us now. It is only by our faith shall we be saved. Come now, join us.” Isabella, with the gentleness of a saint, reached out her hand. One after another, they relinquished their weapons and returned to the circle. The sound of boots rushing up their stairs failed to unnerve them this time. A few feet from the bedroom, they footsteps fell silent. Moments pass before they began to open their eyes.
Monroe was the first through the door. “They’ve gone,” he yelled, jubilantly.
No, they were never here,” said Isabella.
Downstairs they found the house was as it had been the night before. There was no sign of an explosion, or gunfire. It was if they had dreamed up the attack. Their bags were even packed. Then, they realized that the stranger was missing.
“Search the house for the…” began Tristan.
“Don’t bother, he’s gone,” interrupted Isabella.
“What’s next, Tristan asked, looking at Isabella.
“We must go. The stranger gave us a mission.”
“What are you saying? What mission?”
“We must find Monrovia’s twin.” With that, the group followed Isabella out the front door and down the trail.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
