(Blog) A Deacon’s Musing: Stories|Miriam

Introduction

A Deacon’s Musing Serial-Story
Feather’s Fall
began in the blog Stories: Funny Things.
As the Serial-Story unfolds, it would be a gift to hear any
feedback, thoughts, feelings and/or challenges that might arise for you.

Stories Thus Far (Left Tabs):
• Introduction;
• Chronological;
• 
John’s Arc;
• Miriam’s Arc; &
• Stephen’s Arc

Chronological

 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: Miriam (May 31/12)
 3: Stephen (July 6/12)
 4: John (Jan 25/13)
 5: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 6: Stephen (May 23/13)
 7: John (July 17/13)
 8: Miriam (Sept 14/13)
 9: Stephen (Oct 24/13)
 10: John (Feb 14/15)

 11: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: John
 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: John (Jan 25/13)
 3: John (July 17/13)
 4: John (Feb 14/15)
Story Arc: Miriam

 1: Miriam (May 31/12)
 2: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 3: Miriam  (Sept 14/13)
 4: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: Stephen

 1: Stephen (July 6/12)
 2: Stephen (May 23/13)
 3: Stephen (Oct 24/13)

 

Story Arc: (4. Miriam)

She stood at the sealed doors. Their shimmer reminded her that they were not only hermetically secure but shielded from the radiation that pervaded the Cynosure. For most, genetic sequencing had addressed the damage the Mirkle’s halo caused. Of course, there were still those for whom sequencing had failed or there were more exotic reasons for such protection. For the former, retirement, dismissal, forced removal or Transitioning were possible outcomes when the Cynosure became threatening. For the latter, however, this wing existed as a temporary protective reprieve. As the security eye chimed recognition and approval – ‘Creator Balbus … processing … Confirmed: Access Granted to 2 Ring’ – she raised her head anticipating wonder.

Earlier …

Day 16 Image: Amy Riddle https://flic.kr/p/82Wdvw

Feathered Brow
Image: Amy Riddle

“Creator Balbus,” he stated flatly.

“Mentor Pilate,” she replied by rote.

“You know why you have been recalled?”

“Negative,” she replied. Though it had been several revolutions since her retirement, she had not forgotten how uneasy one could feel in the presence of a Mentor. Aged to an extent that affectation was minimal if at all detectable, one could be easily confused without the guide of inflection of body language.

“Do you recall the Pre-Narrative of the ELY’JaH?” he inquired dryly?

“Do you mean the Tale of the First Mirkle?” she responded habitually. She could feel her pulse increasing – she knew he knew – but decorum required focus. That which was source true could not be uncovered by emotion’s warp. She also knew he knew her breakthrough in organic transmutation had been intuitively discerned following the vagaries of myth, as much as the rubric of science. But what the ritual required was performed.

“Affirmative.”

Drawing breath, she summarised the Elder’s Tale of the ELY’JaH:

Following the Avatars’ arrival, when the Mirkle first began the Chant, we walked. From here to there we wondered. From wonder to wonder, world to world, we took to flight from the Nest. In the First Mirkle, much was gleaned, much was learned, more was done that could not be undone and into the midst of the ELY’JaH our first sequence was acquired.

From the First Mirkle, the pale blue dot was revealed. Dressed in flowing hydrogen it greeted. And in this place, the wingless were found. In ignorance they walked and enlightenment conveyed. Initially, there was harmony, collaboration and learning. As is time’s vagary, hubris detracted and from collaborators to defilers the wingless accused. Finally, as violence’s dance unfolded, the First Mirkle drew to an end with the liberation of the ELY’JaH.

“Do you know why I ask of this?” Mentor Pilate continued.

“I speculate my work with the First Sequence of ELY’JaH?” she replied tentatively.

“None of us is irreplaceable, Creator Balbus,” he began. For a moment – perhaps she saw what she wanted – his affectless feathered brow emoted. “But your work – though replicable and repeatable – has not been as nuanced as required.”

“Acknowledged,” she replied in the custom of receiving a compliment.

The Architect Image: Garry Knight https://flic.kr/p/bepgPD

The Architect
Image: Garry Knight

“You have been recalled, therefore, Creator Balbus. You have been restored to full privileges by an act of Section 31. Creator Balbus, the organic material of ELY’JaH has been acquired. You shall be debriefed by Architect Octavius in a sun’s rotation. Is there anything further you require?” he concluded with finality.

For a moment, the old training restrained her, the routine and ritual halted her, the tradition and convention silenced her. But … she could hear Rachel Whispering: warning and encouraging … for the moment she could not be replaced, need alone Transitioned.

“Mentor Pilate,” she began, as she measured her tone lest she reveal her fear. “The only reason my work would be further required would be that a Third Mirkle had begun. As it is my understanding that the Convention has not been modified with consensus, I must ask: has Section 31 begun another breach?”

They looked at one another. Only their interior lids shuttered. It was the protocol that any retired non-transitioned Creator’s work was not only paused, but halted for an entire Brood-cycle. The only caveat was another Mirkle Breach. And – considering the ill-effects and still lingering instability from the Second Mirkle – the Convention had established no breaches were to be attempted without a consensus of the Nest. As they looked at one another, they both knew that had not happened.

“Creator Balbus, you have been personally recalled by Architect Octavius of Section 31. When you meet with him in a sun’s rotation, you are more than entitled to explore that with him as your full privileges have just been reinstated. As we both know – Creator Balbus – it is only those who possess full privileges who are permitted to question a superior,” he replied flatly. The ensuing silence was then answered by his office doors which slid open marking their time complete.

Feather’s Fall continues:

• Chronological (4. Stephen: Coming Soon!)
• Story Arc (5. Miriam: Coming Soon!)

(Blog) A Deacon’s Musing: Stories|John

Introduction

A Deacon’s Musing Serial-Story
Feather’s Fall
began in the blog Stories: Funny Things.
As the Serial-Story unfolds, it would be a gift to hear any
feedback, thoughts, feelings and/or challenges that might arise for you.

Stories Thus Far (Left Tabs):
• Introduction;
• Chronological;
• 
John’s Arc;
• Miriam’s Arc; &
• Stephen’s Arc

Chronological

 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: Miriam (May 31/12)
 3: Stephen (July 6/12)
 4: John (Jan 25/13)
 5: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 6: Stephen (May 23/13)
 7: John (July 17/13)
 8: Miriam (Sept 14/13)
 9: Stephen (Oct 24/13)
 10: John (Feb 14/15)

 11: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: John
 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: John (Jan 25/13)
 3: John (July 17/13)
 4: John (Feb 14/15)
Story Arc: Miriam

 1: Miriam (May 31/12)
 2: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 3: Miriam  (Sept 14/13)
 4: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: Stephen

 1: Stephen (July 6/12)
 2: Stephen (May 23/13)
 3: Stephen (Oct 24/13)

 

Story Arc: (4. John)

The Long Walk

The Long Walk
Image: Richard Manley-Tannis

He knew he was not conscious … but he also knew he was aware for the first time since his ‘transport.’ He wouldn’t lie to himself – had never been his thing – he was scared and knew he was way out of his depth. Wherever ‘here’ was, it wasn’t any place he should be. That realisation – confession – helped. He had always danced with fear: never from it. He knew that there was a lot wrong right now, the least of which is the extent of the damage he knew his body had endured in the snow. Since that memory was not giving up any revelation, he thought he would worry at the word he had heard more than once in his recent conscious moments: ‘Mirkle.’

It sounded … familiar? Like an old story that he had once overheard, a movie once spied during those first romances where the venue was the excuse to allow hormones to guide: in other words he was saying the word over and over, variation after variation …

“M’RKl!”

It blared in his unconscious process! No: really? A connexion? The implications … well at this point he realised that whatever they were made 3rd degree hypothermia look like a suntan after a great afternoon playing bball in the sun, when green used to be the predominate summer colour …

And as the key unlocked the memory, he heard the deep voice of the Elder begin one of the Tales …

And it came to pass – in those days when mystery was dressed in life and awe walked with feet – that the M’RKl was wrenched. This was unlike floods of yore, quakes of days long forgotten or miracles once longed for. Nay: this was time and space ripped, this was when Universe’s balance was thrown asunder and the great epiphany of what was slammed into that which will be. And as the air was torn open, as light bled through the yawning wound, they came on wing. They came into our midst without words, but sounds that tore through minds. In silence, their piercing battle cry was heard. And all quaked and were dissuaded from the first Walk. There be giants in those days and in those days they flew!

At first – yes he knew it was rhetorical, it was sarcasm, it was denial – he thought, “really?” to himself. But he could not deny what he intuited. The Tales were pre-stories, truths coupled in rhyme and prose. Stories before the time of rendering fire from matter unseen. Whether elves or spaceships, fantastical or mundane, they were doors to inner wisdom and corporate meditation. They weren’t literal …

Snow Angel

Snow Angel
Image: NASA Goddard Space Flight Center

And thus it came to pass: the Walk staggered on. Though Sisters and Brothers were disappeared. Though tests and experiments unheard of were performed. The walkers walked the Walk. Balance was the goal: as it had been, as it was, as it always shall be. Through the M’RKl they had come. Their purpose unknown, their intention unspoken. But in their silent voices they spoke of Elsewhere, of unformed ether, of aeries and clouds. And all who listened knew that there truths always co-existed (even when contradictory) in spinning matter. And thus the Walkers stopped and protested. Neither with arms of might, nor fists of mail did they resist. This was the first Chant, the first time the song arose from those collectives spaces and places that bind us, yet which too often greed and ego obscure. But on that day – many torn tears later – the M’RKl was closed. And thus the walkers who perform the Walk had yet one more balance to maintain, one more chore to be ready to perform. This is but one Tale of the Chant and it begins with the time of wrenching: MRK’l

He was awake – for the first time since the snow had maimed him – he was awake. And there, through glass so thin, it seemed but a membrane akin to water’s edge upon which a bug might walk, was … he searched for the word … and resisted its uttering. But as he sat up, attached to and interwoven with strands of something akin to webs, he said, he asked, he challenged, he declared: “Angel?”

Feather’s Fall continues:

• Chronological (4. Miriam)
• Story Arc (5. John: Coming Soon!)

(Blog) A Deacon’s Musing: Stories|Stephen

Introduction

A Deacon’s Musing Serial-Story
Feather’s Fall
began in the blog Stories: Funny Things.
As the Serial-Story unfolds, it would be a gift to hear any
feedback, thoughts, feelings and/or challenges that might arise for you.

Stories Thus Far (Left Tabs):
• Introduction;
• Chronological;
• 
John’s Arc;
• Miriam’s Arc; &
• Stephen’s Arc

Chronological

 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: Miriam (May 31/12)
 3: Stephen (July 6/12)
 4: John (Jan 25/13)
 5: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 6: Stephen (May 23/13)
 7: John (July 17/13)
 8: Miriam (Sept 14/13)
 9: Stephen (Oct 24/13)
 10: John (Feb 14/15)

 11: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: John
 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: John (Jan 25/13)
 3: John (July 17/13)
 4: John (Feb 14/15)
Story Arc: Miriam

 1: Miriam (May 31/12)
 2: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 3: Miriam  (Sept 14/13)
 4: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: Stephen

 1: Stephen (July 6/12)
 2: Stephen (May 23/13)
 3: Stephen (Oct 24/13)

 

Story Arc (3. Stephen)

Defense Authority

Defense Authority

Stephen was beginning to walk upright. The notes in his chart were vague, though anyone in a Decommissioning Ward knew the signs of a Zom’b. No one thought it odd that there wasn’t a transfer order from the Defensive Authority to the Civilian. People in the Ward stopped asking questions long before or – perhaps more clearly – those who remained there for any length of time found ways to address curiosity … addictive personalities usually sought numbing, financially strapped employees rationalised not seeing what they ‘saw,’ and others just did what needed doing …

In one random moment of recognition, one of the orderlies recognised a physical similarity with Stephen and another patient from the Zone. Recognition, however, did not translate into interest. All it meant was that at one moment, during some non-descript day, someone said something to Stephen like, “Your kin is okay son …”

And that’s when Stephen started to awaken. No one ever has – well, that is documented – awoken from the Decommissioning. Even less clear is that if anyone has, whether or not they were allowed to or whether they let anyone know. Whatever the truth was in a place like the Ward, Stephen knew that drooling and dragging his feet Zom’b style was what he had to do … for now.

Decommissioning Ward

Decommissioning Ward

He hated the sanitised antiseptic smell that pervaded the Ward. The cleansed surfaces sometimes reflected light too sharply and the first time one of the ‘bots cleansed him he was certain that the charade could not go on … but then he remembered the voice. Not the orderlies – though he was grateful to have been drawn from the fugue by knowing his kin was no worse – but the one that spoke to him during his interrogation with the Delver in Isolation.

He was breaking in Isolation. Of course – he was remembering this more clearly – he had done nothing to warrant Isolation. That didn’t matter. They would learn he had been innocent … hell of a lot of good that would do him. Isolation and Decommissioning might be different processes, but the result was the same: the Ward. Of course nothing was ever proven that there was a connexion. But the peace mantra was enough to pacify the middle class and those who were not pacified, well they stood out enough to eventually be Isolated.

Stephen, however, at the height of the violation of Isolation knew to his core that he had not been Compromised. As the Delver also noted this revelation, his mind began to fragment … all thanks to the interrogation Stephen swore to himself. So, living the ruse in the Ward, he dragged his feet and made water in public to make sure he was an ideal Zom’b until the right moment.

Civilian Authority

Civilian Authority

Playing the part, however, was becoming more difficult. A week or so after he began to awaken, he finally remembered what had stopped the fragmentation. In the shared epiphany between himself and the Delver, as sanity receded much too quickly, he heard his name and felt his essence held in an embrace that his normal cynical barrier would have dismissed … but this was not a tabloid-story and he knew it …

“Stephen, breathe deeply and feel the Light that you are. You have been avoiding and hiding and that’s okay. You might have done it longer, perhaps never had to dig to hold on, but the Universe unfolds and now you have a choice. The Way is before you and should you choose to begin the journey, you will awaken – of this I am certain. I am also equally confident that – at this very moment – you must choose that which you have avoided. The Isolation is about to Compromise you very being … so, slumber or awaken, choice is now unavoidable …”

As the ‘bot cleansed and redressed him in the openness of the Ward, as he stood naked to the world in all appearance a Zom’b, Stephen had chosen and now he waited once more for the voice …

Feather’s Fall continues:

• Chronological (4. John)
• Story Arc (4. Stephen: Coming Soon!)

(Blog) A Deacon’s Musing: Stories|Miriam

Introduction

A Deacon’s Musing Serial-Story
Feather’s Fall
began in the blog Stories: Funny Things.
As the Serial-Story unfolds, it would be a gift to hear any
feedback, thoughts, feelings and/or challenges that might arise for you.

Stories Thus Far (Left Tabs):
• Introduction;
• Chronological;
• 
John’s Arc;
• Miriam’s Arc; &
• Stephen’s Arc

Chronological

 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: Miriam (May 31/12)
 3: Stephen (July 6/12)
 4: John (Jan 25/13)
 5: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 6: Stephen (May 23/13)
 7: John (July 17/13)
 8: Miriam (Sept 14/13)
 9: Stephen (Oct 24/13)
 10: John (Feb 14/15)

 11: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: John
 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: John (Jan 25/13)
 3: John (July 17/13)
 4: John (Feb 14/15)
Story Arc: Miriam

 1: Miriam (May 31/12)
 2: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 3: Miriam  (Sept 14/13)
 4: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: Stephen

 1: Stephen (July 6/12)
 2: Stephen (May 23/13)
 3: Stephen (Oct 24/13)

 

Story Arc (3. Miriam)

Within the Cynosure

Within the Cynosure

She had not heard from Rachael – had not expected to (if she were to be honest). Rachael – source true – would not be judgemental or dismissive, though she might Whisper with heartache. She had been away before – in the days when she wore the title Creator Balbus with pride. She had the left the Now previously for durations that were not countable in revolutions and always Rachael was there welcoming her home with grace. Immersed in the canvas, in the two, three and sometimes multiple dimension creations for which she was famed, Rachael would surface and be fully present after her time at the Cynosure.

Cynosure: It was more than a facility. In one of the first journal exposés, which was intended to illustrate their work (more publicly), the writer referred to it as a compound once … but that was quickly dismissed by the Echelon as not only inaccurate, but derogatory. What was the Cynosure? She mused the question as she rode the mag-rail back through the Polis.

Even from the east side of the Polis, the exterior rings of the Cynosure shone in the suns’ ascension. But those earthen protrusions were a poor indication of the megalith to which it was rooted. An elliptical, organic conduit that ran for a length undreamed of before the Mirkle. The energy that it produced was mind boggling. At one time such ideas as cold fusion energy generation seemed the stuff of fantasy: most who worked at the Cynosure now knew that such fantasy had simply become commonplace.

The Mag-Rail

The Mag-Rail

But what was once miracle or the supranatural had … in her opinion … also dulled most Creators’ ability to wonder … which – let’s face it she chuckled to herself – was central to their work. It was this revelation that was her catalyst to make the change that had just ended …

The Cynosure, however, was much more than an energy generating facility. The energy was simply one manifestation – no, more pointedly, one outcome – of the work that had been done there for so long that some used language dressed in ‘time immemorial’ or antiquated metaphor of a mystical memory when Avatars appeared to guide them from ignorance to awakening.

Regardless of the stories, most accepted truth revolved around the reality that the Cynosure was the first academy of learning. The place when the question of the physical relationship between the known organic and crystalline structures (in which they walked and breathed) and the hypothesised dream of living metal began. It was important to begin to answer the questions – most Mentors taught – or else their species, which too often was tied to the capricious winds, would never be able to nest permanently.

Something was waiting, she felt it – Winged it – and what that meant filled her with dread … worry … concern … awe … ?

As the mag-rail began its silent, magnetised, deceleration she looked back at the Polis. The protective domed-barrier of shimmering porous metallised energy was the fruition of the dream. Finally, they could nest and with such stability they had begun to further peel back the looms’ questions that bound physical reality and temporal potential. It all began at the Cynosure and she was now returning at a behest that left no room for insubordination. Something was waiting, she felt it – Winged it – and what that meant filled her with dread … worry … concern … awe … ?

Feather’s Fall continues:

• Chronological (3. Stephen)
• Story Arc (4. Miriam: Coming Soon!)

(Blog) A Deacon’s Musing: Stories|John

This blog was originally published July 17, 2013
by The United Church in Meadowood

Introduction

A Deacon’s Musing Serial-Story
Feather’s Fall
began in the blog Stories: Funny Things.
As the Serial-Story unfolds, it would be a gift to hear any
feedback, thoughts, feelings and/or challenges that might arise for you.

Stories Thus Far (Left Tabs):
• Introduction;
• Chronological;
• 
John’s Arc;
• Miriam’s Arc; &
• Stephen’s Arc

Chronological

 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: Miriam (May 31/12)
 3: Stephen (July 6/12)
 4: John (Jan 25/13)
 5: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 6: Stephen (May 23/13)
 7: John (July 17/13)
 8: Miriam (Sept 14/13)
 9: Stephen (Oct 24/13)
 10: John (Feb 14/15)

 11: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: John
 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: John (Jan 25/13)
 3: John (July 17/13)
 4: John (Feb 14/15)
Story Arc: Miriam

 1: Miriam (May 31/12)
 2: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 3: Miriam  (Sept 14/13)
 4: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: Stephen

 1: Stephen (July 6/12)
 2: Stephen (May 23/13)
 3: Stephen (Oct 24/13)

 

Story Arc (3. John)

That sense of the sealed closure began to relax. It seemed like the compression lasted a really long time and, at the same time, it wasn’t. He just wished his sight would return! He knew … no, again that wasn’t right … he instinctively knew – he intuited as his Elder would say when he got something right – that he had just travelled somehow, somewhere. As another disturbing insight dawned, he noted a new smell that slammed into him. How he was not bowled over he could not explain, but the scent of ozone was pervasive. He knew he should be on his knees letting go of anything left in his now emaciated state of being, but instead he performed the dance somehow remaining upward.

Jacob's Ladder

Jacob’s Ladder

As his body’s convulsions calmed, he begrudgingly straightened himself to the sound of whispering whooshing. Machinery? Computers? It was too silent to be anything like that – yet there remained a sense of impersonal mechanisation.

“I want my Emissary,” he attempted to shout – again he was not sure he said anything.

He knew it was appropriate to make this demand – he had a right to an advocate and – even though he doubted the Establishment would allow him even the illusion of acquittal as one of the key figures of the Way. Nonetheless, he longed for some sort of explanation. His memory as to how he ended up somewhere where there was snow and near-freezing-water was enough motivation for him to remain conscious. Not surprisingly, the only reply was only the whispering noises of the impersonal environment. Then in this surreal fugue in which he had been immersed, he heard voices? Again … not words … at least not auditory in nature.

“Welcome,” he felt the greeting in him!

“What?” he stuttered … he knew he heard himself, at least, this time?

You have arrived. We are grateful for your sacrifice.” The words greeted him like clothing, surrounding him, embracing him. They also scared the shit out of him!

“Arrived? Where? Who are you? Sacrifice? Where’s my Emissary?”

Jacob's Ladder

Jacob’s Ladder

Too many questions – he felt like a child did on her first visit to a library. Seeing the old books and the manual labour required to find the information as opposed to a swipe gesture and search query … dumbfounded, that’s what he was experiencing and he knew his mouth was gaping open as he tried to comprehend just enough information that seemed disconnected.

As we begin to process you, we’ll explain more. You may feel none of this makes sense, but I assure you,” the whispering and embracing voice said, “before the procedure you’ll better appreciate the choices made for you.”

Pause … the cursor of his mind’s eye kept blinking unable to process further as he was stuck at procedure and choices … pause …

He was lifted from the standing position he had been in since he had arrived. Outlines began to form. He thought he saw computer consoles, blade servers, some sort of command and control sitting area, and then, holding him to his left and right, men. Big men – no, bloody huge! And, as the fugue began to resurface and the previous sickness returned, he was trying to process what seemed to be appendages that made no sense …

“As for where, well you’ve crossed the Mirkle.”

That was the last thing he heard before consciousness slipped away from the mounting terror into which he found himself unmoored …

Feather’s Fall continues:

• Chronological (3. Miriam)
• Story Arc (4. John)

(Blog) A Deacon’s Musing: Stories|Stephen

This blog was originally published May 23, 2013
by The United Church in Meadowood

Introduction

A Deacon’s Musing Serial-Story
Feather’s Fall
began in the blog Stories: Funny Things.
As the Serial-Story unfolds, it would be a gift to hear any
feedback, thoughts, feelings and/or challenges that might arise for you.

Stories Thus Far (Left Tabs):
• Introduction;
• Chronological;
• 
John’s Arc;
• Miriam’s Arc; &
• Stephen’s Arc

Chronological

 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: Miriam (May 31/12)
 3: Stephen (July 6/12)
 4: John (Jan 25/13)
 5: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 6: Stephen (May 23/13)
 7: John (July 17/13)
 8: Miriam (Sept 14/13)
 9: Stephen (Oct 24/13)
 10: John (Feb 14/15)

 11: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: John
 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: John (Jan 25/13)
 3: John (July 17/13)
 4: John (Feb 14/15)
Story Arc: Miriam

 1: Miriam (May 31/12)
 2: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 3: Miriam  (Sept 14/13)
 4: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: Stephen

 1: Stephen (July 6/12)
 2: Stephen (May 23/13)
 3: Stephen (Oct 24/13)

 

Story Arc (2. Stephen)

The question still hung there:

“So citizen, why did you cover, protect and place yourself in danger for one from the Way?”

The Hover Bed

He liked to imagine there was some compassion from the interrogator. Whoever she was, Stephen knew she was not from the local detachment. Too cool, too rigid, too … implacable? Doesn’t really matter he reflected further – he had no answer and now things were escalating.

After the back and forth, after whatever they do when the ruddy green light scans you, he clearly had provided her with no acceptable answers … and since answers were required to establish intent, Stephen knew the weekend – at the very least – was now lost.

“Citizen, I do not deny your apparent veracity in your recall of the events that transpired and which – as a result – have brought you to the attention of the Delvers. It is apparent, as well, that your motivations are uncertain and it is possible that you have been compromised.”

As Stephen replayed the conclusion of the interrogation, every word was spoken in monotone cadence until the word ‘compromised.’ It’s distinctly possible his predilection toward the dramatic might have dressed the word in a nuance not readily attributable to a Delver … but … there were too many buts as far as he was concerned …

18 years old, backpack packed, Stephen was leaving the crap life he’d led and was going to get away from the Draft – as was his right when he turned Majority.

“Stevie, don’t do it. You know that just because you can do it, it’s not necessarily the most … prudent decision.”

She pleaded pronouncing ‘prudent’ strategically. He knew she meant well, but he had seen the vid-span and the results of being deployed into the Zone was … brutal. He almost swore his reply, but he knew she only wanted him safe. Knowing it, however, didn’t change what he was about to do …

“Ma, I know you want the best for me, but I’m not going to the Zone! There’s no way in hell that I’m going to end up like him – no matter how much they say they take care of him, he’s not in there and you know it! He’s a shell and I’m not going to make someone a Zom’b and sure as hell I’m not wanting to become one!”

They stared at each other – she knew her son and he knew her, his mother. Her head sunk, just a bit. Tears had been exhausted since he had returned from the Zone and Stephen did not want to talk about him. They’d seen what Decommissioning looked like and he was leaving. With resignation, she nodded.

“Okay,” she said walking over to the bureau. “Take this credcard, you’ll need it. And … Stevie … whatever you do, DO NOT get caught up with the Way. You know what that means, if you do …”

It wasn’t a question or a judgement, neither a challenge nor recrimination: it just was what it was.

So citizen, why did you cover, protect and place yourself in danger for one from the Way?

As the hover bed held him, immobilised, during his transfer, he remembered the last time he saw her … though it wasn’t the last time she saw him. The transfer was happening and he had no Advocate. Wherever they were taking him, he knew that five years of avoiding the Way had played out and now he had been deemed Compromised.

 

Feather’s Fall continues:

• Chronological (3. John)
• Story Arc (3. Stephen)

(Blog) A Deacon’s Musing: Stories|Miriam

This blog was originally published April 5, 2013
by The United Church in Meadowood

Introduction

A Deacon’s Musing Serial-Story
Feather’s Fall
began in the blog Stories: Funny Things.
As the Serial-Story unfolds, it would be a gift to hear any
feedback, thoughts, feelings and/or challenges that might arise for you.

Stories Thus Far (Left Tabs):
• Introduction;
• Chronological;
• 
John’s Arc;
• Miriam’s Arc; &
• Stephen’s Arc

Chronological

 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: Miriam (May 31/12)
 3: Stephen (July 6/12)
 4: John (Jan 25/13)
 5: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 6: Stephen (May 23/13)
 7: John (July 17/13)
 8: Miriam (Sept 14/13)
 9: Stephen (Oct 24/13)
 10: John (Feb 14/15)

 11: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: John
 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: John (Jan 25/13)
 3: John (July 17/13)
 4: John (Feb 14/15)
Story Arc: Miriam

 1: Miriam (May 31/12)
 2: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 3: Miriam  (Sept 14/13)
 4: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: Stephen

 1: Stephen (July 6/12)
 2: Stephen (May 23/13)
 3: Stephen (Oct 24/13)

 

Story Arc (2. Miriam)

Rachael had left to run some errands in the Polis. Though they had removed themselves to the crystalline desert there were still connexions, obligations and responsibilities that required … intention. Miriam could not bring herself to return – it had been several revolutions since they had left and still the thought of returning for required practicalities was draining. Rachael simply smiled without recrimination.

Source True

Source True

“Is … is it okay?” Miriam asked tentatively. She knew that their bond ran deeper than neuro-transmitters that formed relational fealty, but still, she doubted. The scars of the Before Now still haunted her. The reality was that no matter how affirming or tender Rachael was with her, Miriam defaulted to the scars of hurt and rejection. Self-fulfilling prophecy is a powerful habit and it would take many more revolutions before she could let it go completely …

“Dear One,” Rachael began, “of course. I know it’s an effort for you – you know to be around so many people. Plus, this way, I get to meet with the co-op and talk about my next show. And – who knows – maybe I’ll find a surprise for you,” she replied with sincere tenderness. Miriam knew in her mind’s eye that there was not an ounce of taint in Rachael. Her Mentor would have said that Rachael was purified metal – source true! But – sometimes – the past paints the canvas and it was hard to see differently.

“Th … thanks,” Miriam stammered with effort. With a breath drawn, expecting the past to enter the Now, it was immediately dispelled as Rachael leaned over and brushed her lips to Miriam’s: they were okay.

Silently Floating Downward

Silently Floating Downward

As Miriam replayed the day old memory, she initially did not hear the transponder quietly requesting her attention. The lyrical tone finally interrupted her fugue and she left the veranda as the singing desert shared a melody announcing the evening’s arrival. As the doors slid open in their audibly silent whisper, the transponder cascaded with pastel-lighted sound. As Miriam lifted her arm to activate the visual connexion, she anticipated that Rachael might be on the other end – perhaps announcing a surprise early return – as her arm activated the sensor, however, she knew that would not be the case …

Though there was no visual, the Cynosure’s logo swirled. Miriam’s breath halted, her shoulders tightened, and she knew her hoped for retirement, retreat, even reprieve was … over.

“Creator Balbus?” a monotone voice inquired.

“Here,” Miriam replied by rote.

“Creator Balbus, please hold for Mentor Pilate. Initiating visual feed in 5 … 4 … 3 … 2 … 1 …”

My Dear One,

We knew – or perhaps we simply dreamed – that the desert’s crystals would allow us to more fully explore the Whisper with one another. I know it is all for which I have ever longed, even before I could articulate it. I so cherish the art you create upon the canvas membranes to which you impart life and potential. I hope – that when you begin this letter – you will hear me deeply beyond the inadequacy of the text.

While you were gone Cynosure and Mentor Pilate have recalled me with an Executive Order. Seems that there has been … Mirkle activity that requires … my attention. I know we talked – once – about how no one is irreplaceable, but Mentor seems to think that, well, they need me and he has done what he is allowed to do.

I will try to contact you once I arrive at Cynosure, but I am not sure how long I will be there, as there are indications I may be required elsewhere. So, until then, listen to the Whisper Rachael, for it is there that my touch remains ever yours.

M

Upon an empty table recently sealed in a hermeneutic murmur, as the suns’ set in cascading colours slowly drawing nigh, a feather floats silently downward. Landing upon a letter of parchment, it clings to the dappling vestige of a tear let loose in loss …

Feather’s Fall continues:

• Chronological (2. Stephen)
• Story Arc (3. Miriam)

(Blog) A Deacon’s Musing: Stories|John

This blog was originally published January 25, 2013
by The United Church in Meadowood

Introduction

A Deacon’s Musing Serial-Story
Feather’s Fall
began in the blog Stories: Funny Things.
As the Serial-Story unfolds, it would be a gift to hear any
feedback, thoughts, feelings and/or challenges that might arise for you.

Stories Thus Far (Left Tabs):
• Introduction;
• Chronological;
• 
John’s Arc;
• Miriam’s Arc; &
• Stephen’s Arc

Chronological

 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: Miriam (May 31/12)
 3: Stephen (July 6/12)
 4: John (Jan 25/13)
 5: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 6: Stephen (May 23/13)
 7: John (July 17/13)
 8: Miriam (Sept 14/13)
 9: Stephen (Oct 24/13)
 10: John (Feb 14/15)

 11: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: John
 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: John (Jan 25/13)
 3: John (July 17/13)
 4: John (Feb 14/15)
Story Arc: Miriam

 1: Miriam (May 31/12)
 2: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 3: Miriam  (Sept 14/13)
 4: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: Stephen

 1: Stephen (July 6/12)
 2: Stephen (May 23/13)
 3: Stephen (Oct 24/13)

 

Story Arc (2. John)

Bird's feather with grain of sand

Bird’s feather with grain of sand

“He’ll be transferred soon through the Mirkle,” he noted.

His sight had not returned … yet. His senses – the ones that ebbed back – were in shock, blaringly so! He still wasn’t sure what had lifted him from the water’s edge, but it was … what was the word?

Feathery?
Metallically soft?
Was it a lift that held him aloft?
A helicopter’s skid pad?
Arms?

He just couldn‘t tell or process the memory. He had to admit – begrudgingly – that all was not really well in this shell he called his body. The word hypothermia kept bouncing around in his head – he couldn’t quite recall what that meant, but it fit …

“They’re gonna expend that much energy … for him?” He was aware of a note of incredulity.

Liquid Metal

Liquid Metal

“Apparently so – something about the Walk causing too much friction if the Project is going to be implemented on this side,” was the reply.

He tried to move – to respond … was there a pause in the conversation? Were they looking at him? Had he been able to indicate he was aware of them? Further pause and then the air changed. Went … tight? Like a seal being closed, he thought?

The voices were gone.
He was … alone?
He felt his body … healing?

Recovery was going to take time and too many questions began to flood … threatening to overwhelm. Of course, he initially kept getting stuck in the loop of where the phone was, but on the third or fourth round of “where’s the bloody phone” he caught himself. Allowed himself to let go of the fact that it was likely under the water in the granular stuff … which he realised on the final repetition was snow! Snow: what had he been doing in the snow? That memory still eluded him, but letting go of the phone paradox allowed him to start asking some questions that were really not all that comfortable. And – more disturbing – was a dawning revelation that did nothing to ease the mounting … fear?

Of course the first one was, where was he?
The next – logically by extension he thought – was who had him?
Why?

As the Walk’s momentum grew there were threats from the Establishment, naysayers, doubters, but he was cool with that: especially when he was able to meet them face-face. He might be a lot of things, might have made a lot of mistakes that were appropriately charged against him, but his belief and conviction in the Walk was … contagious and he knew it! Very rarely when he treated a questioner – Seeker, he liked to call them – with respect did they leave with the same judgement. They might not have been convinced, but he always knew they had … softened.

Whoever had him certainly did not seem connected with those opposed to the Walk. Or, if they were, he couldn’t place the connexion. And though he knew he wasn’t firing with all cylinders in the old brainpan area, the mounting fear was certainly trying to address the growing awareness … which he so did not want to confront …

The voices … he knew he had not ‘heard’ them. He could tell, with growing concern, that hearing was not one of the quick rebounding senses that was recovering well after his ordeal in the snow on the water’s edge … what he was resisting, as he drew a deep breath and sat up with shooting agony, was that he not ‘heard’ the words with his ears, he had understood them in his head and that … well that wasn’t possible …

Feather’s Fall continues:

• Chronological (2. Miriam)
• Story Arc (3. John)

(Blog) A Deacon’s Musing: Stories|Stephen

This blog was originally published July 6, 2012
by The United Church in Meadowood

Introduction

A Deacon’s Musing Serial-Story
Feather’s Fall
began in the blog Stories: Funny Things.
As the Serial-Story unfolds, it would be a gift to hear any
feedback, thoughts, feelings and/or challenges that might arise for you.

Stories Thus Far (Left Tabs):
• Introduction;
• Chronological;
• 
John’s Arc;
• Miriam’s Arc; &
• Stephen’s Arc

Chronological

 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: Miriam (May 31/12)
 3: Stephen (July 6/12)
 4: John (Jan 25/13)
 5: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 6: Stephen (May 23/13)
 7: John (July 17/13)
 8: Miriam (Sept 14/13)
 9: Stephen (Oct 24/13)
 10: John (Feb 14/15)

 11: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: John
 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: John (Jan 25/13)
 3: John (July 17/13)
 4: John (Feb 14/15)
Story Arc: Miriam

 1: Miriam (May 31/12)
 2: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 3: Miriam  (Sept 14/13)
 4: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: Stephen

 1: Stephen (July 6/12)
 2: Stephen (May 23/13)
 3: Stephen (Oct 24/13)

 

Story Arc (1. Stephen)

A Steel Door

A Steel Door

The light was bright. He wanted to close his eyes. He longed to close them. But the inhibitor was doing its job – inhibiting! He sat in the chair surrounded by shiny metal walls with no seams. The questions had been asked and he didn’t have answers for them. Of course they thought he did, man he wish he did! He tried to tell them, in fact he cried it, yelled it, whined it, whimpered it … he wasn’t sure they realised he wasn’t some uber-touch-Way-preaching nut, because if they didn’t he wasn’t sure he could hold on much longer …

How had he got caught up in the protest, anyways he wondered? He was doing … well nothing that was the problem. He just wanted to get to the teller, withdraw what needed withdrawing and get out of the city for the weekend. It was too hot, too humid, too wet, it was always too something and he needed a break! And, of course, Broadway was jammed; people with stones were taunting those from the Way. No one wanted to hear what they had to say in their not-saying-anything-way, always made people think, he thought to himself. He surely didn’t want to …

The he heard it: the whizzing of a stone. Lately the protests had gotten violent – well not the people from the Way, but those who came to confront them: those who didn’t believe in their message or disapproved of their actions. Too many conspiracy theories were rampant across the ‘net and no one believed that non-violence and some feel-good environmental messages wrapped in the clothing of faith could be anything but subversive. Of course, others were whispering across twitter that the #Stoners – as they were now being hash-tagged – were actually part of an intentional response to undermine the Way’s message because someone, somewhere, in some enclave of power was feeling threatened.

Of course, when the stones started flying, he tried to get out of the way and then he saw her. She was wearing that white-robe outfit all of them wore. It was some material that seemed, what otherworldly? It almost seemed to shimmer even though it was flattened and plain looking cotton. It also seemed impossible to get dirty. There had been a Way walk through ‘toon a month ago. The dust storms came and the news feed was cut for twenty minutes. When the sound bites got transmitted again, though cars were buried, glass tarnished by the grit, the Way was pristine. Again lots of theories shared through cyber, but beneath it all no one knew what the stuff was made and the Way was not helping. They never did … well they never spoke that is …

He first saw the blood … it pooled around her head. The crimson crown seemed brightened by the serenity of her dulled eyes as she stared at him. But it never touched the white, seemed … repulsed? Regardless, with no forethought, he ran to her, touched her, covered her with his own body The #Stoners smelled blood and were intent on creating another Way martyr. Of course the plan – well he had none – meant he started to receive the missiles intended for her.

Stones Cast ...

Stones Cast …

He couldn’t move himself after the third, fourth and then fifth rock hit him. Though he had no idea why he had embraced an unaccustomed moment of the impetus, he was pretty certain reflecting that would not be a problem much longer! Then he heard the whistle and the Boots processed with wired batons and shields charged pushing the #Stoners off of Broadway. The Way members remained standing, chanting their tune in eerie harmony. As he was picked up by a mech-bot, he felt certain all was okay … still thought he might get to the teller … then he heard the rasping metal voice, “Apprehended: civilian action incongruent. Take in for questioning.”

Now he was in the Box. He had no answers. But they seemed intent on getting them. He was sure the volume of talking alone would have demonstrated he was just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. But the question previously asked, and which remained unanswered to everyone’s satisfaction (including his own if he were to embrace a moment of self-reflective honest) was: “So citizen, why did you cover, protect and place yourself in danger for one from the Way?”

As the seamless hermetic door opened, he knew he was going nowhere until that question was answered …

Feather’s Fall continues:

• Chronological (2. John)
• Story Arc (2. Stephen)

(Blog) A Deacon’s Musing: Stories|Miriam

This blog was originally published May 31, 2012
by The United Church in Meadowood

Introduction

A Deacon’s Musing Serial-Story
Feather’s Fall
began in the blog Stories: Funny Things.
As the Serial-Story unfolds, it would be a gift to hear any
feedback, thoughts, feelings and/or challenges that might arise for you.

Stories Thus Far (Left Tabs):
• Introduction;
• Chronological;
• 
John’s Arc;
• Miriam’s Arc; &
• Stephen’s Arc

Chronological

 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: Miriam (May 31/12)
 3: Stephen (July 6/12)
 4: John (Jan 25/13)
 5: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 6: Stephen (May 23/13)
 7: John (July 17/13)
 8: Miriam (Sept 14/13)
 9: Stephen (Oct 24/13)
 10: John (Feb 14/15)

 11: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: John
 1: John (May 5/12)
 2: John (Jan 25/13)
 3: John (July 17/13)
 4: John (Feb 14/15)
Story Arc: Miriam

 1: Miriam (May 31/12)
 2: Miriam (Apr 5/13)
 3: Miriam  (Sept 14/13)
 4: Miriam  (June 19/15)

Story Arc: Stephen

 1: Stephen (July 6/12)
 2: Stephen (May 23/13)
 3: Stephen (Oct 24/13)

 

Story Arc (1. Miriam)

Liquid Metal

Liquid Metal

She loved it, couldn’t deny it, hell wouldn’t! She had loved being a Creator, and knew she would be lying to herself, and Rachael, if she ever claimed she didn’t – at times – miss the satisfaction when it worked. When that gene sequence snapped into place and the abstract art of biogineering translated into tangible existence was a … rush! She hated the word, but the mirror reflects truth, even when avoided, her Mentor always told her.

And that was it, that bloody reflection that she knew was killing … no it was devouring her essence. It was never enough. Even when she had the big one – ‘the breakthrough’ – which everyone thought was even bigger than Mirkle’s Temporal Solution, it was momentary, and left her desiring more. She was the star and from that ascended & lofty place, she had walked away.

It was hard, but not because of the loss of the rush, but because she did not know what Rachael would think. She needed her, not in a dependent manner, but they completed one another. Longings, melancholy even despair were bearable – at times almost forgotten – when Rachael held her. Whether after that moment when the Bliss eradicated the Now or when a simple touch reminded her she was not alone … she needed Rachael to not only be okay with the choice, but the move …

“You what?” Rachael asked, with her always glistening amber eyes shining

“Seems I’ve figured out how to do it?” she said in her accustomed stammer. Sometimes people thought she communicated that way owing to humility, others ego and some because she was inept in interacting with anything other than a genetic abstraction. The reality was … well she never went there.

“You mean the soft into the hard?” Rachael replied in a manner that always reduced the idea to the essentials.

“Yeah – transmuting organic compounds into metallic membranes. It’s not just possible, it’s repeatable,” she paused.

Bird's feather with grain of sand

Bird’s feather with grain of sand

They looked at each other. Rachael smiled. They were okay. They had worked on the Whispering when communication was too cumbersome.

Whispering was another one of those phenomena that was revealed after Mirkle’s work. It wasn’t telepathy, which continued to elude. It was discovered to be an ethereal, even sublime, connexion. The neurology still seemed fuzzy, but essentially it was assumed that those with whom you practiced Whispering were able to connect at the quantum, the essential level, with the other. Thoughts transmitted so much data that words would never be able to convey and the Whispering threaded you into the knowing of another’s tapestry.

“We’ll go – of course Dear One.” Rachael said touching the side of her face tenderly.

She loved it, couldn’t deny it, hell wouldn’t! The suns’ dawn kissed the desert’s varied-hued red stones and in that every-morning event the crystals sang. It was like the Bliss, but it not only lasted, it resonated until the next morning’s event. This was why she left – calm. Away from the Polis, simply being, no longer a Creator. She would never go back …

Feather’s Fall continues:

• Chronological (1. Stephen)
• Story Arc (2. Miriam)

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