Captain’s Log–Latitude 51.51100–Longitude 0.20553

 

After 5-years of writing for a local, (public) journal, I realised that I was merely sparring–unwittingly preparing for ‘this’ moment in time (L-1447).

Though I use the word ‘sparring’ loosely, I speak allegorically, not wanting to conjure thoughts of a physical fight into the rigid minds of today.

I do not see my words as gunpowder to equip a weapon in a conflict, I visualise an authentic, soft, nurturing ink, graceful flowing from an old pen. My only aspiration is not to ‘perform’ but ‘inform’ and that all the efforts from  this burdensome passion of mine, become the fuel that waters the cosmogonal mind. But today such a grand inheritance is obscure and at best aped by the like-‘minded’©

And so appear ‘the like riders’© who write in pencil, thwarting commitment.  These fame seekers enter word contests, whereby the winner is the one that best appears to continue their tradition of feeding sugary snacks to poor minds. So malnourished with ‘formula’ the poor reader remembers not nutrition until the moment it returns.

Such writing practice guarantees malnourished print and ongoing mental atrophy, leaving the reader only ‘feeling’ full with recycled stories lacking contrast.

I (the soul) ask, how long will the economy of words remain in recession, how many versions of the same tale can be told without providing a worthwhile lesson? How many words can be wasted, how many clips can be emptied into curious minds without learning something of their own nature? Will the ‘Wows’ be forever more precious than the ‘Ahas’?

He waited for a few seconds for an answer, one that he knew did not exist.

“Oh, is that a question”? Said Emer. 

“I don’t know I’m a life coach not a publishing company.

We should be clear–I’m here to assess your mission and whether or not you ‘commit to what you admit to’. I do think you have a point but–as a reader–I much prefer fiction as an escape from all this”. She said, moving her upward-facing palms in a circling motion.

Although he admired her ability to speak in slogans, he didn’t appreciate the estranged feeling her comment gave him. She spoke a rare language called ‘slogan’. He noticed it on their first meeting and came to love the fact that she had copy for days but this time he doubted her sincerity, he wasn’t sure if she was more committed to cleverly arranging words or frankness or whether he was just thinking to much.

She didn’t yet realise that the two of them shared an obsession with words, it made him hopeful. Though hers was about poetry and rhyming it was still a link, temporarily coddling his desolation. He noticed that she had the advantage of expressing her gift in conversations at will–she used it wherever she could attributing to her fluency in improvisation. 

He tried to justified his point, absent of her gift of cadence.

“There ‘are’ things that we can learn ‘while’ being entertained. This way the entertainment also leaves the reader with some direction, never completely knowing whether it is fact or fict, satisfying a curiosity deep within, no”?

“Yes, I can see that but I’m not everybody and most people just want to watch frivolous, disposable light-hearted entertainment…to me anyway”. Said Emer, realising she was being a little too arbitrary in ‘his’ session.

“I disagree, I think the soul–not you who’s speaking but the soul–yearns to know what it’s doing here in existence but that thought is buried deep, deep, deep underneath all the entertainment, almost begging the question: why oh why all this obsession with entertainment, especially when all of us…ourselves are a book wanting to be read?

There’s not a moment for reflection where one is left to simply think of how magnificent they ‘truly’ are. It’s just work, pub, club, home–repeat…maybe an ‘expensive’ vacation in between bad news. Even reading as entertainment is all thrills and drama without a moment within–must it be either reference or effervescence, why not both?” He said proud of his rhyme.

“Right there, in that solo space, be it on a train or a plane, is the perfect, if not the only moment, to inject an organic thought–I want to provide them with that inspiring flash of bliss.”

“But why? I don’t think ‘I’ want that when I’m reading a book, I just simply want to unplug”.

“You mean ‘you don’t know that you want that’. It’s been sapped from your consciousness but your sub-conscience remembers. That’s why my followers keep returning to follow me. Its those 30 second…not too long to offend their time deficit now… yeah those 3o second clips that give them that ‘I knew there was more to life than this’ feeling; the dopamine, that serotonin hit.

Let me ask you a question”, he said leaning forward, “do you believe you have a soul”?

Emer felt surprised and a little intimidated, as though the roles were suddenly reversed.

“I guess I do”. She said, feeling pressured”. 

“Well what if I told you that you do not have a soul. In fact nobody has a soul, you only believe that you do because you adopted such language through entertainment, without ever questioning the meaning. We blindly trust the salesman without testing the product”.

“So you have the knowledge to tell ‘everybody–young and old–that they don’t have a soul”?

“Anybody that believes they have a soul or even don’t for that matter, fails to understand what a soul is–you ‘are’ a soul but you, and mostly everybody else, speak of ‘their’ perpetual existence as if a temporary body. An admission of ignorance and a grave sentence of mortality” 

She looked up in the air, obviously enlightened knowing that she hadn’t thought about it in such detail. A little smile started to appear.

 

5D books, are (to me) anything but ordinary and predictable, I know it’s the future of extra-sensory reading, specifically accompanied by 2d codes…stiQRs…which take the adventure further, to places of no limit.

You’ll notice that, if you scan this little image it will give you access to other chapters that move beyond time and space. This makes the reader a key part in the adventure.

He casually produced, out of his pocket, what looked like a business card in the shape of a little fish and handed it to the woman. She looked at it curiously, tilting her head to the left a bit trying to make out what it was. 

“I had completed three other books, I had aimed to complete one, a colonial American period romance called Moromata, as the story was being revealed, then I realised it was no longer fiction but had some very real details in it that were personal to me. I then knew, instead it should be experienced as an ongoing adventure revealed in stages–as part of the 5d way, I call ‘eternal reading’, keeping the audience eager to see what happens next.

But here’s the kicker, ‘I’ don’t even know what’s next; it’s genuinely revealed to me periodically. It happens, in the most alien way.  Each morning around 5am, words literally start dropping into my head. Answers to mysteries, equations, quantum theory, historical names and places I’ve been, mostly from an entity I possessed in another life.   

So the whole concept is like a ‘Hansel and Gretel’ type treasure trail where you pick up leads along the way; a concept that is begging for the world audience”.

“The book, you mean”? Said Emer

“Well of course but not just a book–thee book”.

“I’m still confused…you said a book…Moromata, then another…Tumado Tomato–or something–so which is ‘thee’ book”? She said with  four-finger inverted commas above her head. He was a little defensive after her earlier resistance to see, he didn’t know whether to be offended, complain or explain. He explained.

“Both really, only the former book is an ongoing revelation; that’s a rolling story and the story of a past life–it’s another world. It jumps from digital page, to digital page, website to physical page then country to country, when necessary–I’ve even seen some pages on the inside panel of a train. But the book contains (within it) keys that have the answers to many issues in our current world, answers that have long perished as written records”.

“You’ve’ seen them”? Said Emer.

“Yes. I mean no, kinda. I…I get taken on this journey that’s ignorant of time and space. I’m shown what exists, will exist or has existed but its so vivid that I see no difference between seeing it with my eyes or my inner eyes yet I have to tell it–with authority. We are at the liberty of authors that haven’t inherited ‘authority’ only assumed it in the absence of the true story tellers, seers–of which I am”.

He said, looking up hoping not to appear too proud.

“Okay, let’s stop there. Said the woman suddenly sitting up in her chair. The pad on her lap had nothing written on it, just a frustrated pen laying asleep between the pages and a doodle of the number 5, scratched out like graffiti on one of the back pages. 

“You came for a session, correct”?

“Yes”. Said Angel a little upset and fearful of her fresh, focused attitude.

“…and you, after seeing a book on the table, lunged into a whole plethora of information…not that it isn’t interesting but you have an attention thing right, I’m not trying to offend you but you do right?”

“Yes, that’s obviously why I’m here. It says it on the admission form and the need to raise fifty thousand this year to help it go away”.

“Ok, so let’s get back to drawing you a road map. I don’t mean to get on you but too much technical detail has taken up all of our time, it may seem a worthy sacrifice but if we’re going to come anywhere near to achieving your fifty thousand goal, I will have to use the remaining time to get us back on track.

“Fair enough”. Said Angel while Emer stood up. She drew several boxes on the blackboard behind her.  He knew that time wasn’t his best friend but he wasn’t yet aware that his gift was because of that fact. Time wasn’t a thing he honoured, only precious moments. He really wanted to possess her ability to ride time but knew she wouldn’t give it to him if he asked. He was full to the brim with words and a mission but needed the discipline that she provided and he was ready to give anything to get it.