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After his Image

~ Mostly philosophical musings after religion and politics

After his Image

Category Archives: Everything Else

Mayan Zombie Apocalypse Now

06 Friday Jul 2012

Posted by myrthryn in Everything Else

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

2012, climate change, cost of living, food shortage, foolishness, inflation, Mayan Calendar, new age, Religion, zombie apocalypse

For a long stretch in my life, I subscribed to all sorts of crazy theories (glad my feet are grounded now).  I suppose it was partly due to having an active imagination and partly by being raised to believe in religious phantasms.  Hell, I even went to Canada for a bit with members of my local cult, whilst thinking there was going to be a terrorist attack ( believing a fool named Larry Wayne Harris) .  That, obviously, didn’t happen.  Around that time, I started looking more seriously at the facts of things,  leading ultimately to my current skeptical atheist nature (Hurrah!).

According to a study done in Janua
ry by National Geographic,  over a quarter of Americans (27%) believe some of the craziness concerning the reset of the Mayan calendar in December.   The are even emergency rations for sale in the department stores.

One fool can’t do too much damage to society.   A group of fools soon reach critical mass and can affect all of society with their zombie thinking.  They become their own self-fulfilling prophecy.

So when these people,  being led by their snouts to buy all the food they can for an imaginary (I’d say manufactured) disaster,  I can see a solid chance that the grocery shelves will become empty.  As they buy, things can domino into others doing the same.  Stores may find themselves entirely stripped of food.  The just in time delivery of the food chain will not be able to keep up.  Therefore, shelves may stand empty for an extended time.

When we went through that mild winter,  I wondered how hot this summer would be.  Now, feeling the desert heat drip out of every pore, I imagine that this will throw more momentum into the Mayan folly.  There must be climate change if the world is ending,  right?

Because corn doesn’t pollinate in this heat, food and fuel (ethanol)  prices will be up this winter.  If fools are emptying the shelves, this will only escalate the problem.

A zombie apocalypse may be in the making.   The brainless ones won’t be after your brains (let’s hope).  They’ll be after your food, your water,  your drugs,  and your family.   Like in the movie, “Shaun of the Dead”, make sure you have a fair sized record album to keep them at bay.

Two Jewels in the Lotus

04 Wednesday Jul 2012

Posted by myrthryn in Everything Else, Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

art, escape, fantasy, Fountain of Youth, golem, mining, sculpture, short fiction, Slavery

The days didn’t change much in the pit. The whimpering at night and the moaning at daybreak never ceased. Small portions of food did little to stay the hunger from men who dug and broke rock all day. Occasionally, a man who tired of the mine was whipped, or worse, left in the sun to die and be buried by somber comrades by night.

It was a hard life. The only highlight most of the men had was when they found a bit of gold, or better yet, a gem. Often, they would fight for these scraps, and just as often, die for them.

The walls of the mine were unscalable; the bars of the heavy gate, unbreakable. No mere mortal, or even this band of men could escape it. The men always tested the bars for weakness; and they were scoffed at by their captors.

He, however, did have something they didn’t. When he was captured, he had managed to smuggle in his little flask. By day, he kept it hidden in his clothes. By night, it lay beneath a shallow layer of dirt in a hole while he slept. The flask contained something very special. It wasn’t alcohol, or even the ashes of a loved one. It’s value dwarfed the men around him and the mine that imprisoned them. If it was ever found, his life was forfeit. If not kept secret, death would come to all who would possess it.

He had been a sculptor in life. How easy it was to see the former life as life, and this as a living death for many. It was the artist in him that had taken him to the ancient temple dedicated to the element of Water. He admired the stone work and the wall paintings.

There was a gilded throne built right into the hillside rock. It was littered with gemstones of every color. In fact, it was completely covered with them, except for the small basin where the right hand might rest.

There was a small opening in the basin that fed back into the wall. Legends said the water that pooled therein dripped from the Well of Souls and had mystical properties.

While he examined the detail of the artisan’s hand, the earth shook, and a piece of the ceiling fell upon his head, knocking him unconscious. He came to, hours later, when the earth trembled again. His head had been bleeding, and thinking nothing of it, he scooped some water that had filled the basin to wash himself.

When he removed his hand, the wound on his head was smooth. He gazed in wonder as he noticed the old scar on his hand was gone as well.

As he filled his flask, his footing became unsure. The whole temple was shaking from another earthquake. As he fled the structure, the whole thing collapsed, leaving nothing but ruin and forgotten memories.

That seemed like ancient history to him. At times, when feeling ill, just a breath over the open flask sufficed to restore him.

Some secrets are terrible to hold forever. This one gave him life and hope, things that his fellow men did not have. He fed this hope daily, and it blossomed within. Nothing would ever quench his love, his life, and his hope.

Months turned into years, then turned to a decade. Men were constantly added to the mine to replace the fallen. Having been there for so long, he acquired an air of seniority, a small deference to his having been a slave for so long.

That favored him when they found that delicious spot of beautifully rich, red clay. The men let him sleep on it, and he’d make small objects for them to dry in the sun.

After some time, he started to mold the form of a woman from the clay. He got some snickers and sneers from the men, until they saw that he was a true artist. She was life-sized and was fashioned into a wonderfully beautiful creature. The men would often stop their conversations as they walked by in reverence to his work.

One day, the men came to him and offered an emerald and a sapphire to adorn her with. He took the gems, polished them and set them for her eyes. As the sun went down, he wept. He cried that such a wondrous piece of art. linger about in such a place of suffering.

He continued to weep into the night for hours. Then, abruptly, he stopped. Though no one could see it, he had the strangest of looks on his face. He grabbed his flask and carefully whetted a cloth with the water. He proceeded to pat her entire body with his mystical treasure.

He felt the clay warm and slightly soften beneath him. In a desperate movement, he emptied the entire flask into his mouth. He embraced her with the love of an artist. She warmed even more. Then, he touched his lips on hers and proceeded to kiss her tenderly. She responded, and kissed him back. She thirsted for more, and took the water of life from his mouth, gulping it down. He broke away, gasping for breath. She gave off a warm soft glow and began to move. She opened her eyes, the blue and the green, and looked around.

From his kiss, she had acquired his understanding. She stood and put a finger to her lips. She glanced at the gate, and saw no immediate threat. She walked around the mine, with him a few steps behind, gathering a train of silent and awestruck men.

Once she circled back around to the gate, she could see no one guarding the other side. She bent down, grabbed the gate, and sunk her heels into the earth. As she strained to lift the gate, her glow dimmed and pulsed. When the last of the men had hurried under the gate, she followed. As the gate crashed down, her glow faded away, leaving her and the men in total darkness.

Soon, guards came, bringing light and skirmishes with them. The mining crew, hardened from their days of labor, easily overpowered them and escaped into the night.

She held her hand up to speak. “Now, we are both mortal. As my spirit was once yours, as is our love, I am yours and you are mine. Let us be as one, travel as one, and love as one.”

For now, he could say nothing. He reached out, took her hand; and together, they did just that until the end of their days.

Spontaneous Hitchhikings

22 Sunday Apr 2012

Posted by myrthryn in Everything Else

≈ 7 Comments

Tags

acts of random kindness, brotherhood, charity, damsels in distress, helping hand, Hitchhiking, out of gas, strangers

“In the beginning, the universe was created. This has made a lot of people angry and has been widely regarded as a bad move.”

-Douglas Adams

Sometimes, people will step outside of their box, and surprise the hell out of you. This time, it was my wife, January. What did she do? She, “OMG”, picked up a hitchhiker, with our two and a half year old daughter in the car to boot!

A few weeks ago, I was at work, and she had sent me a text asking if I could come and rescue her. Evidently the “Low Fuel” light inthe Mustang didn’t come on, and she ran out of gas about three miles from town, and about nine from where I work.

I snagged a can, put some go juice in it, and headed out. Just before I got to where she was, I passed a fellow striding along with a pack and a mat.

We put the gas in the car, and he went by us, saying “Hello”, not even thinking about asking the obvious question. Before I left to return to work, I told her that he would be okay to pickup as he probably was going to the town she just left. I went to work, not worried in the least, even though her phone had started to misbehave rather badly. I got the whole story later.

His name was Frank, and he was on his way back to Indianapolis where he lived. His mother had died about a month back, and his sister, with power of attorney and no will, kept the sixty-eight grand in assets. One brother of his suicided a few weeks after Mom died. He apparently hitched all the time, but had gotten to where he never asked. He went to help his other brother with something in Rockville. After there a few days and brother doing naught but drink and couch set, he got fed up and started back to Indianapolis to clean up his dead brother’s place.

My wife didn’t just take him back to our town. She stopped and got gas, and then took him the other direction, an half-hour down the road to Brownsburg.

How did I ultimately know that this guy was going to be fine getting into a car with my wife and daughter? He was a man with a mission on getting somewhere. I don’t think I even got a good look at his face as he passed us walking. He didn’t turn his head to say hello either. He walked by courteously, said hello, continuing on his mission of emotional cleanup.

There is always a story to be heard. No one cares to listen much anymore. People like to claim to help the poor and needy, but rarely they step up to the plate of brotherhood. This man, while having some needs, kept his chin up in those troublesome days, and while not refusing to accept assistance, he wasn’t going to ask for it either. This land needs more people like this. People like him, and those willing to only reach out but a little.

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