-
- Then they told me something interesting -- what kept
them hanging 'round (forgetting they've been HERE from the beginning).
It was the individuals they found were most profound, not the cultures
so obsessed with merely winning. Institution was, yes, boring as it pandered
to position, was slow to cop to common sense, was backward looking and
contentious. Nations (?) but a travesty that work to keep their status
by using up the single folk supporting them in gratis?
-
- No -- it's the single mote of consciousness that delights
but so confounds them . . . how it contests culture's stricture to survive!
. . . Producing works of art that simply fall from focused fingers, and
to see beyond horizons so contrived! They'd lost that, how some ever, in
their time between the stars, their consciousness predictable -- the same.
Though they find us most uncomfortable, and unsettling to behold, we surprise
(and so transport) them; it's the way they play their game.
-
- Not watching for *amusement* (or just to pass the time),
could they watch to engineer their own survival? Their boredom's killing
them, and it's US that's teaching THEM to recapture what they lost and
where they're libel. Theirs, though written truly, tested faith (as they
construe it), but its "reach" had met its "grasp" in
empty air? For all their science magic, they are soulless, and it's tragic;
they approach in trepidation -- but they dare? It's our passion they review,
enthusiasm -- they're renewed, and they *like* us just as well as they
are able? But not enough for trouble (which we foment, fake and fumble),
so then not enough to join us at our table.
-
- They'd think it disrespectful to disclose their wider
path (?); they couldn't break their rules of intervention? It's the way
they do their business that we couldn't understand, as our history is (and
has been) in contention. It's them supporting secrecy (?), to wait our
leaders out (?) . . . for us to issue forth from our *cocoon*? Our *leaders*
keep us choked in cloaking wraps of their *tradition*, while they do not
deign to wear them, this is true.
-
- We're barely from a cradle that they see with ancient
eyes. We're repellant and we're beautiful, respected and despised. We are
feared by what we worship, and it's always been that way; God knew that
when he *made* us; he KNEW we'd make him pay! While some have tried to
slide us back to stone age modes of thought, it's most have kept the faith
with them the former just *forgot*. Their *golden* rule is current; their
denial is so plausible; it's up to *you* to test their faith, or perish
-- as is possible.
-
- "Any question's, Mr. Lehmberg,"? I would hear
them ask again. I said, "Yes sir, but I'd bet you have no answer."
I was answered to the brim right now . . . but questions come again somehow
-- when answers are a question's fancy dancer.
-
- "What, then, can I do," I asked, "with
a story I can't tell -- a story all the *doctors* say is bunk? If I breath
out just one word I'd be committed and interred -- buried in a rubber room,
discounted . . . counter sunk. "
-
- Well, they ushered me OUT of the room we were IN and
into a mammoth sized hall. The ceiling was domed and obscured with soft
mists (mists changing color) -- a carnival, or ball. And this a small space
when compared to the ship (a fraction of its volume). There was nothing
at ALL to hold it all up -- not a pillar, or a scaffold, or a column. And
swimming and leaping or flying on by were our comrades and fellows of space.
They flew and they jumped or they slithered along with a purpose, potential
and singular grace . . .
-
- But, while they're all talking a language they *speak*,
and I understand all the sputters and squeaks as a music in knowledge of
time and deep space, I'm impressed so completely I'm shamed and disgraced.
I cannot describe all the people I found, all the shapes that they took
so bizarre and profound -- how some saw with *ears*, or heard subtle color
or tasted with fingers, but *knew* one another . . . and they were (yes!)
there, so denial was senseless, bereft of all logic, inbred and pretentious.
-
- . . . In addition, the smells . . . an assault to the
senses of an ape (not that long) from the plains -- Afarensis. Everything's
catching the eyes in my head, my ears snatched away to confusion instead.
All of it's new, and exciting, and fearful in beauty so strange I am made
(truly) tearful. Oh, it's too much, too fast, (and I'm not sure I like
it). I'm blowing a gasket; I try and I fight it. But it's just no damn
use, and I slip to the floor, mind blown and knocked cold -- out in shock
. . . through the door . . .
-
- Lehmberg@snowhill.com
-
- . . . through the door.
-
- I'd like to think I was *stronger* upon waking up from
that retreating faint, and in truth history demonstrates (unintentionally)
that we human beings can get used to *anything*. Even people from space.
Too much has never become enough. We've _always_ adjusted to the new reality.
We will adjust to this one. We will adjust to the one after THAT!
-
- Water on Mars. Think of it, and have another epiphany.
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