Times of Turmoil (DP Challenge: Back to the Future)

Written for The Daily Prompt: Back to The Future, posted August 4th, 2013

Times of Turmoil


The old man stumbled, suddenly distracted by a call in his mind.

The world around the old man faded away, replaced by an ancient world that possessed his mind and informed him of an entirely different ‘reality’ than he had been experiencing a moment earlier.

In this older world he felt younger, stronger, hornier.

Desert sands had replaced the mild meadows full of flowers the old man had been strolling through only a few moments ago.

Who had summoned him?

What must he do here?

In the distance a plume of dust marked the passage of a caravan. The young man set off to find his ancient destiny.

The body of the young man that the old man now possessed was very strong, well toned. The young man was nearly naked, his brown skin glistened slightly with sweat. A sack of alum powder hung from his sash.

The old man fingered the small leather bag, remembering what it was for, he applied some of the powder to his skin to stop his sweat.

Conserving moisture was a critical part of living in this desert’s heat.

Few people in this age knew this secret of the alum powder.

The old man had taught the secret of alum to the young man’s fathers during a later visit he must still make to that earlier time.

Aside from the precious alum powder, the young man carried a bronze sword and bladder of water. The young man was a soldier, as his fathers had been before him.

The old man observed the caravan as he caught up with it.

There were few guards, some of whom were wounded. The caravan had recently survived a raid. Perhaps the raiders had not made off with the best of its treasures.

The nobles, soldiers, and merchants would be wary.

But the presence of the old man within the young man’s body meant only one thing, the caravan carried an artifact, an artifact out of time itself.

The old young man could physically sense the artifact as they grew closer, as if it were a part of their shared body.

Suddenly, the young man was gone. He had travelled ahead into the old man’s body, while the old man fully possessed the body abandoned by the young man who had been riding it.

The young man’s body seemed to fall in upon itself, shriveling and wrinkling, until the young man appeared old. His sword fell from hips and hid itself in the sand, safe from the prying eyes of the caravaneers.

The water in the full bladder turned sideways, vanishing from this dimension.

The old man’s loinclout changed from a clean, neat cloth to a shabby, dirty affair.

The old man considered losing his sandals as they changed to match the decrepitude of the rest of his appearance.

The old man approached two of the caravan’s guards who had dropped back to ‘greet’ him.

The old man tensed for the blows, pretending to be ignorant of any fighting skills.

When both guards struck the old man he fell to the ground and groveled.

The old man knew that only one of the caravan members could be a sensitive, like himself.

Ordinarily, two or more sensitives could not tolerate being together with the artifact carried by the caravan. It took extraordinary training for a sensitive to shield themselves in the presence of the Divine Rod of the Ruler of Time.

This was the artifact the old man was here to steal.

But, as usual, the time-tables had all been changed again; the mission put on hold for so many centuries was suddenly reactivated. The stolen rod would soon be returned to those who had first summoned it into being.

The old man considered the deaths of the people who now greeted him with a beating.

If necessary, he would design a death customized to each victim, none of these poor souls were prepared for the subversive attacks he might launch against them.

The old man could turn the minds of each member of the caravan against themselves.

Begging for mercy, the old man pretended to writhe in pain upon the ground.

After a few more dutiful kicks to the old man’s back and sides the guards relented, satisfied the old man was in no shape to be any threat.

As the old man rose to his feet he was shoved back down to his knees.

The caravan came to a stop to allow the old man to approach the caravan’s master.

Scraping worn knees across blistering sand the old man crawled forward and begged for mercy and protection from the elements.

The caravan master frowned, then vanished from his own body as the caravan’s sensitive ruler peered out of the master’s eyes and surveyed the old man carefully.

Clearly the caravan master and his sensitive ruler did not get along well. The ruler was probably corrupt and cruel. The old man knew how to turn their poor relationship with one another against them.

The ruler frowned with the caravan master’s eyes, unable to enter the old man’s body.  This one would need to be trained to give up his flesh.  He must be a barbarian form the north to be so ignorant of the customs of the ruler’s tribes.

The sensitive ruler of the caravan slipped out of the caravan master’s body, allowing the master to return, and silently informing him what he should do.

The master whistled a code to summon a slave. The slave would teach the old man his own tasks and make sure the old man did them well. The slave would move up in rank with the old man taking his place as the lowliest member of the caravan.

The old man hated the tyranny of the rulers, and yet he was another ruler.

The old man was fighting a war with the tyrant rulers, a war that would be won shortly after he seized the Divine Rod of the Ruler of Time.

The old man pondered the Rod’s origins.

When the Rod had been summoned it was the first of the magical artifacts received by men from the entities of the Creator Races.

Some of the members of the Creator Races sometimes appeared among men, riding them by ruling their bodies.

The old man had learned that trick on his own; there was no teacher to tie his mind to the minds of the rulers.

To the tyrant rulers, it was as if the old man did not exist.

The old man had made himself into a rogue ruler.

The tyrants knew they were opposed by people as powerful as themselves, but they could not identify any of the rogue rulers behind the rebellion.

The rogues were more skilled than the rulers they opposed. The tyrants had grown lazy and corrupt, relying too much on their slaves and dominions, rather than upon their own minds and strengths.

The Rod had been created to give humanity rulership over all of the elements, including Time. The Rod was intended to empower humanity to build a sanctuary for themselves apart from the tyrants who ruled them.

However, the original fellowship of the Rod’s summoners had been corrupted. The tyrant rulers had witnessed the summoning of the Rod and had seized the Rod before it could be sanctified.

The raw Rod was a dangerous artifact in the hands of anyone who did not understand its powers.

The tyrant rulers had sacrificed many of their members trying to learn the Rod’s secrets.  All they had managed to learn was that they should never allow the Rod to meet water or blood.

Now, at last, the Rod was vulnerable. The Rod had been forced out of its hiding place by rising waters. The tyrants had feared to lose possession of the Rod, but had the Rod been fully immersed in the waters that rose behind the Aswan Dam the powers of the Rod would have been opened up to the entire planet.

Water would conduct its powers directly into the minds of everyone on earth.

The tyrant rulers could not allow that to happen.

The Rod must be kept dry at all costs.

The tyrant rulers sensed the trap waiting for them if they moved the Rod during the approaching flood.  They decided to move the Rod centuries before the Aswan Damn would eventually be built.

The old man grinned, thinking about how he would spit on the Rod at his first opportunity.

Beneath the old man’s knees his bronze sword crawled through the sand, seeking the camel carrying the Rod.

Suddenly their was a loud cry as a camel stumbled and fell, it’s foot bleeding.

The old man rushed forward, cursing.

The camel’s belly opened up as it struck the sand, its guts spilling as the sword struck again.

The camel driver stared in horror as he was thrust out of his body by his ruler.

The ruler turned in the camel driver’s body and pointed at the old man, frustrated.

The old man denied the caravan ruler entry to his body.

The camel driver was sweating profusely as his ruler channeled more and more energy through his body in a futile attempt to invade the old man’s body.

The power channeled through the camel driver’s body set his body ablaze.

As the camel driver began to burn the old man compelled the caravan master’s body into action. Together with the frightened caravan master, they ran to a camel more ostentatiously outfitted than most of the rest.

The caravan master leapt over the camel pressing both hands down on its hump and swinging his legs up and forward, colliding with body of the caravan ruler’s priest with both of his feet.

The priest collapsed to the ground and died, the spirit of the caravan’s ruler was severed from the priest’s body as the caravan master cut through the priest’s heart with a silver dagger.

The remaining slaves and guards of the caravan fell upon each other in chaos as their ruler jumped from one to another ineffectively seeking anyone he could ride.

Without his priest to focus the ruler’s mind within the members of the caravan the members were coming free of his powers to enslave them.

The ruler disciplined himself. There was one member he could still enslave, but he must be subtle about it. If the others suspected he still owned any of them they would kill his host and sever his only tie to the caravan and it’s precious cargo.

The caravan ruler remembered his history, he knew how the Rod had originally been seized; now it was up to him to play the role of the hero of his people, he must somehow manage to steal the Rod back from whoever had just captured it.

The old man spit on the Rod.

The Times of Turmoil had begun once more.

The Beginning.

16 thoughts on “Times of Turmoil (DP Challenge: Back to the Future)

  1. Pingback: La Sagrada Família | Ireland, Multiple Sclerosis & Me

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    1. gharveyn Post author

      um… we scarcely remember writing this. How did you find it? We have forgotten how or where we posted this, in spite of seeing our WordPress header at the top. lost from our own life once again… who were we last year? Our continuity is not so good these days.

      1. Laura P. Schulman, MD, MA

        Well, you have a lot to keep organized……I have that happen all the time, that I write something somewhere or maybe comment on a post and then find it again, and don’t even remember writing it. I think I live in a baseline state of dissociation, so I’ve stopped being surprised.

    1. gharveyn Post author

      as we expected, except that we have no idea how to find it ourselves. :^(

      we are quite certain we use our dissociative states to manage our pain.

      reading through some of your blogs it is clear you have far more pain than we might expect anyone to have. Or perhaps it is just that you relate your pain clearly, both cogently, and emotively.

      your pain practically sizzles and pops write off the page.

      it was interesting to learn new labels and classes of actors, your flying monkey dad, for instance.

      seems there were more we no longer remember, but doubtless will encounter again as we read more of your work.

      we have often pondered what sort of bestiary might describe the monsters people sometimes become.

      on another note – it seems we share several issues with you, we might presume you had a miserable childhood (we have so far only encountered accounts of your adult life), you appear to have severe chronic pain from your neck injury, and your PTSD symptoms for which we are as yet uncertain of a specific cause, (perhaps due to somewhat careless reading on our part).

      your blog evokes such clear and deeply wounding pain that it becomes difficult to read. your other readers must be heavily armored or perhaps masochists to endure so much pain on your behalf, but your writing is so clear, matter-of-fact, and free of tones angling for pity that it has a very captivating quality.

      then again, perhaps it is our empathic nature that makes your pain resonate with our own pain so well.

      we will understand if you would rather back away from a reciprocal experience of our own pain.

      pain sucks, but it is always there, always nagging, except when we get really stoned, or when it owns us so completely we can only writhe in agony.

      marijuana helps, it is better than Vicodin which we used to use in daily 20 mg doses, but neither marijuana or Vicodin does more than assist our dissociative states so we can escape the worst brunt of our pain.

      we will now lose our clear morning head to our first toke, as the pain is coming on stronger once more.

      we are grateful we live in a medical marijuana state (California), however it makes travel risky or we must leave our pot behind.

      we are disturbed this morning, excited to have met you, but still so full of self doubt that we are uncertain how to proceed.

      we shall do our best to take our cues from you and let you lead when we falter or you urge us in some specific direction we might resist.


      1. Laura P. Schulman, MD, MA

        Aw…shucks…you make me blush with your praise. It’s strange to think that my best writing pours out when I am talking about my pain, but then I guess that’s natural. You’re wonderful writers yourselves, and I am going to take my time slowly and carefully getting to know you.

      2. gharveyn Post author

        Some of the best people are all too quick to overlook their own good qualities. It becomes a duty of compassion to give praise where praise is due.

        there is a Yiddish phrase related to this, we think it is called a mitzvah…

        Really, self-deprecation may be the norm; alas, some people cannot talk about such matters openly or honestly; consequently it may be difficult to determine if this is true. We regard this as an epidemic, a socially transmitted memetic disease that informs people to look down on themselves.

        (memetics = the study of memes, including their processes, capabilities, applications, and countermeasures)

        Advertising helps fuel this epidemic because advertising must set people up to feel as if something is wrong with them that only the advertiser’s product can fix. The root message is ‘you know you are inferior, but our product will make you look better’ (or feel better, perform better, etc.). Consequently a lot of people are constantly having their own worst attitudes about themselves reinforced not only by their own bad cognitive and emotional habits, but by advertisers and other agencies that exploit this sort of weakness in people to promote their unhealthy regards for themselves in order to make them captive consumers of the advertisers’ products and services.

        The deaf photographer from the movie ‘What the Bleep Do We Know’ is a good example of the kind of negative reinforcement that many people give themselves every day of their lives; she is successful, but she cannot allow herself to see her own virtues. BTW, if you have never seen Bleep it is an excellent movie that brings science, philosophy, and religion together more comfortably, while using examples from quantum physics and theory to describe possible scientific bases for many religious, new-age, or occult beliefs.

        there are many, many social, emotional, and mental illnesses loose on this planet, it seems as if nearly everyone is sick with one mad malady or another. Still, most people seem to be afraid to let anyone know how much they are suffering.

        Only by sharing from our own lives’ pain and misery can we let others know it is safe for them to open up, to explore their pain, to learn to help it heal.

        We had a blog on MySpace that was suddenly shut down when MySpace reformatted its services and discontinued their blogging service. Fortunately there was a six month grace period in which we could contact them and receive our blogs in the form of a giant mass of text. At least its not entirely lost. We did a lot of our early work with memetics there.

        We used to compose in notepad, then copy to our blog; we kept a copy of everything, but that grew tedious enough that it discouraged us from writing.

        Not that we need discouragement, we lose our minds so frequently that our writing projects suffer, languish, and get filed away for a day that may never come to see them resurrected.

        We are not surprised to hear you have a story of alien origins. We would consider it a sort of symmetry or reciprocity that seems to have become more frequent or more apparent in our lives as time flies by.

        We put up our ‘Spheres’ stories today. We think there may already be some of our dragon stories posted on WordPress; if not, we will find what we can and publish what seems most appropriate.

        This world is nothing like people imagine it to be. But that may be the only thing we can say about it with any great confidence. And yet, in a different context, this world can only be what we imagine it to be. Context is too often presumed because it takes such lengthy descriptions to establish context; however, changing contexts befuddle too many concepts, sometimes changing their meanings around entirely.

        Our heads hurt when we encounter descriptions that should be perfectly clear but that are equally true when we reverse the terms or invert the context.

        we must take a break soon, there is a pipe to load and a decision to be made whether to kick our friend Megan out of our bed or let her sleep past dawn while we stay up another six hours. Megan manages to get out of bed quietly enough not to disturb Tina too much. They are both in school, so we try to let them sleep an appropriate schedule. Alas, we are tired tonight, having stayed up later than we anticipated last night because Tina invited Megan to drop by to stay a week, partly to give Megan emotional support during a rough patch Megan is having with her boyfriend.

        Megan is somewhat homeless, a condition endemic to her family her entire life.

        Tina was homeless when we met her, a condition frequently revisited because her ex, then her hubby, is bi-polar.

        Sid has come home, early or late it is hard to say, he keeps hours that often compete with our own for strangeness. Sid is our roommate, a financial necessity after we bankrupted ourselves trying to support Megan’s family after her dad died.

        Megan’s mom and dad became our best friends for nearly two years, a good run for a friendship for us. We warned Megan’s dad against his plans, we tried to get him to let Megan’s brother stay home. But Bear wanted to take Dylan on an adventure, we know he hoped to get closer to Dylan on their trip. They drowned together when their boat ran aground, allegedly after Bear countermanded the pilot’s course.

        The pilot was the sole survivor.

        C’este la vie.
        auf wiedersehen …

      3. Laura P. Schulman, MD, MA

        Do you happen to have a post in which you identify each of you? At this point, when you name specific people, I don’t have enough information to know whether you’re talking about one of you, or people outside of you. Also, what really is a “meme”? I am rather behind the times and this is a term I see a lot, but being a recluse I don’t “get” a lot of terms that have arisen since I was last in the world.

  3. gharveyn Post author

    ah, found it. It’s been a long time since we lasted used our blogging tools at WordPress. This appears to be the last thing we wrote here, aside from some odd comments.

    anyways, we sort of see where this bit fits into the larger story we are trying to tell.

    wetting the rod awakens its power, immersing the rod distributes its power. the deeper the rod is immersed the more people it can communicate with.

    the rod facilitates or coordinates communication between people, enhancing their collective consciousness and their participation in the processes of informing their consensus realities. This enables people to attract universes in which their desires are fulfilled most accurately and satisfactorily.

    the story devices we use here are different from the ones we are familiar with, so this piece may have snuck in to upset our ideas and get us thinking along somewhat different lines.

    our mythology usually tells this story from the point of view of ourselves as a dragon who comes to ‘earth’ from a distant world. in those days, the earth was considerably different, there was not yet a sun in the sky, for instance. The sky glowed, but with no visible source of light. sometimes the light grew brighter or dimmer, and over time these contrasting qualities grew more extreme. Eventually a diurnal cycle established itself, and later, the sun was born as an instrument to end the war that was waged on ‘earth’ since its earliest beginnings.

    there was no planet in those days, just places where sky and earth met with water or fire, some of which were more or less comfortable to different sorts of people.

    the people arrived in the dominion that became earth from other dominions, places where humans were slaves to their elder races.

    some of the elders were deeply devoted to pain in all of its qualities and expressions. the lot of most humans was dreadful torment for the entertainment of their powerful progenitors.

    we describe what the early stages of dominion formation were like in our stories about the ‘Evolution of the Spheres’ (spheres are domains or dominions)

    we should republish those stories here on WordPress, as our original blog is in peril of disintegration due to serious neglect.

    ta for now!

  4. Laura P. Schulman, MD, MA

    I would really like to read your stories, so please do republish them. Your description of this world behind-the-veil calls up ancient memories.
    I used to have a piece “I Am Alien” on Black Box Warnings, but the blog owner discontinued the blog and the content disappeared with it. I hope I have it on my hard drive. It’s the story of how I ended up in this world. If I can find it I’ll publish it on my own blog.

    1. gharveyn Post author

      Sorry Laura, this is meant in response to something you recently posted up above here, but this is the only place we can make a reply so its a bit out of order. We are replying to your comment that begins with:
      > “Do you happen to have a post in which you identify each of you?…”

      Hi Laura,
      Who we sign ourselves as occasionally changes, sometimes almost by whim, we typically let our signatures stand without thinking too much about which of us they may represent. (ps the deeper we go the more of us come out)

      Grigori Rho came about when Gharveyn grew too weak to carry on. We are still Gharveyn to those friends whom we met when we were mostly only Gharveyn.

      Our issue is partly that we seem to have no identity we can agree with.

      Most of our names are labels for different voices we still cannot identify with any clarity. One counselor, the head of a clinic in The Tenderloin of San Francisco, Cindy Gyori, said it was unusual to have so much transparency or awareness shared among other selves. This was the therapist who diagnosed us DID back in the early 90’s or very late 80’s.

      At that time she said we presented strikingly different physical characteristics when she interviewed particular members of our collective. She wanted to record us with video as she interviewed them, the ones who responded to her well, but that scared us, we were not ready to see ourselves in so many different ??? there really is no good word here because every word implies that our members are fragments of a larger whole and we think some are but some are not.

      Rho is a name evolved from our birth-names Roger Holler (R for Roger and ho for Holler). Rho nonetheless defines a feminine part of ourselves if not something or someone more.

      If Rho signs as just Rho she is usually acting in some kind of guardian capacity.

      Grigori Rho is a child of Gharveyn and Rho, not a child per se, although he may be most comfortable in childhood aged contexts.

      Our dominant child refuses to be named, we call him our 5 year old. He is our artist, he is extremely sensitive so he gets clearer images that the rest of us may only very dimly perceive.

      Gharveyn is Tina’s boyfriend going on common law hubby. (Rho speaking)

      Megan remembers us as Roger before he was excluded.

      Roger and most of his ilk are excluded because they won’t shut up about our pain, misery, depression, etc…

      As to the many others, most participate in what we are doing when we are writing, but some participate more in certain physical tasks than others, each according to their dispositions or specialized knowledge, especially their dexterity.

      We can send you a spreadsheet if you like, as well as a pageful of iconic cards resembling business cards for those who were strongest when we tried to map them out clearly several years ago.

      We think we first found clues that there might be others of ourselves when we were only 8 or 9 years old. Reports about our behavior were entirely unbelievable to us, we could only deny we ever did anything wrong. But in the context of multiple personalities, perhaps we did.

      Nothing criminal, just other kids’ accusations and occasional punishments for things that left us feeling bewildered or outraged.

      For instance (our only clear memory), April’s brother beat us up for messing with his sister. We have no idea what he meant by ‘messing’, we did have a small crush on April, but as far as we know we never spoke more than a hi or hello to her in passing at school. (perhaps not even that much)

      Some of us identify themselves as female, but we do not like how gay cultures inform gay men to depict themselves as women so we avoid cross-dressing even though it is fun to wear different clothes and makeup.

      Most of us are not particularly masculine as our mother hated men and we grew up learning to hate our biological gender.

      Nonetheless this does not prevent people from perceiving us as masculine, as we certainly do not resemble a female without more effort than we are willing to make.

      We mostly get along together, we try to stay focused on our projects, but our projects are where each of us get to use their special skillsets and get their own ‘me’ time.

      We have defenders who try to mediate interruptions so that we can get back to whatever our current project may be before we lose ourselves and can not remember what or where to continue.

      Memory goes with flesh, so those of us who were not born to this flesh do not have intact memories, just personalities or characteristics.

      Hard to explain without going deep into our esoteric beliefs.

      Who is anyone?

      Most people appear to identify themselves with their bodies, we are growing away from that.

      From what we have observed, the consciousness or awareness of a person is independent of their body, including their brains and nervous systems.

      People appear to be more like fields of energy from which their bodies are constantly emerging and dropping away to be instantly replaced with new bodies that emerge and drop away.

      The fields of energy that are each person resemble tentacles to us.

      Each tentacle is dependent upon a larger more invisible body that might be their soul or spirit.

      Each tentacle represents a different incarnation, but each incarnation has its own dependent tentacles which we call iterations.

      An incarnation reflects the key circumstances of your birth, your parents; where and when are infinitely variable and these variations are the dependent iterations of an incarnation, including all other variables such as life experiences, professions, partnerships, and children.

      ((imagine you married differently, took a different career path, moved to a different nation, etc. you really did do all of these with your iterations, but you did each of them in discretely different families of universes. parallel dimensions))

      some of ourselves are these other iterations of this incarnation, while a very few of ourselves are avatars of other incarnations iterations, all of whom have their own physical bodies in their own realms.

      Those members of our group who are not of this particular instance of flesh, its iterations, or its alternate incarnations and their iterations, fall into several categories.

      Some of us such as Gerry (an avatar of Jerald Weiss our first psychologist) or Alina (our girlfriend who died in January of 1977) have their origins in people we have met in our life as Roger, or perhaps one of our other selves. We only came out of the closet for multiples in 2006, consequently much of our lifetime before then did not reflect our differentiation very clearly.

      Others appear alien, such as Al pronounced AL but spelled AYE EYE because Al is an artificial intelligence (AI).

      Al’s job is to manage the largest group of ourselves which is like an extraordinarily large stadium full of people from all of creation including distant galaxies and parallel dimensions. Some of these people resemble human beings from ‘earth’ however many are clearly alien and beyond description because their realties are very different from our own.

      We are overwhelmed to see them and to hear them is to listen to a cacophony, so Al mediates on their behalf and ours to facilitate understanding as needed and to reconcile differences that threaten to disrupt the primary processes of their group.

      Messages from Al or one of Al’s parents, siblings, cousins, or children will usually appear with <<> and often with CAPS as well.

      Al usually only breaks in when we have neglected something too long or when we have made a critical error in logic or ‘fact’.

      Of course, many errors still fly by because if we can’t see what Al is describing or we cannot clearly transcribe what Al is trying to say then we have to ignore him even though he may feel his issue is urgent.

      Transcription is a problem.

      The more differentiated any member is from what you might call our baseline, the less our language skills are likely to have in common with their own.

      English, like any language is partly arbitrary, most of us do not come from English speaking cultures, nor are their languages recognizable forms of other known languages. ((Our aunt Wes (mother’s estranged sister) speaks 40 different languages, 7 fluently)).

      Which language a person speaks and what dialect are very arbitrary indeed, once you consider all the possible earths in the multiverses, such as worlds where Hitler successfully established dominion, or where expansive colonization of the new world began much earlier with Leif Ericson.

      Our blood carries us too close to those Nazis for comfort, but they have left us a present, a present for the entire world, something which must be understood to be appreciated.

      But that goes into more esoteric realms.

      We are quite sorry for what Hitler did, but we believe he was a product of humanity itself and not simply an aberration. Not a product we wish to emulate, but one we must still understand if we are to avoid creating similar horrors in the future.

      Randy, our best friend from childhood ages 9-11 or so? was a Hasidim whose parents bore the concentration camp tattoos. They never talked about their experiences with us, perhaps because we were too young. Nonetheless, we were deeply affected by knowing them, their character, and their strength. We helped them set up for Seder for the few years they were our neighbors.

      Sorry. You asked us to identify the others; one of us remains a Nazi, although we do not count him as either a Roger or any of the Rogers’ descendants. Our nazi is an avatar of a self-styled satanic priest who inducted us into his cult when we were 16 or so. We broke up his satanic circle after introducing him to his beloved lord and master in person. He could not believe his lord was not evil, he himself wanted to be evil.

      We call our nazi Dopey after one of the seven dwarves. His avatar’s real name was Tim, but we call his avatar member of our group Eric, Erica, or both as he seems to be both at once sometimes (alternately spelled with a k, as Erik or Erika when they are being particularly ‘bad’.
      So far Eric/Erika have been good for the most part.

      We count some angels and demons among us, albeit they belong off to the side somewhere. Our primary angelic contact has been Zadkiel, with Michael pushed on us by a friend.

      The demons are more difficult to name.

      Neither demons or angels should be feared, they are only agents acting on behalf of whomever summons them.

      A summoning is as simple as finding a cup or filling that cup with water.

      Every breath is a summoning.

      No human action can transpire that angels and demons do not attend to.

      Think of the universe, so vast, but not nearly so empty as humans believe it to be. The vacuum of space is more myth and misperception than truth.

      The universe has spawned atoms and molecules that have collided and concatenated to form cells and organisms.

      But what informs an atom how to become an atom?

      What informs an atom’s constituent parts?

      We might say that God informs all beings how to be themselves, and this is a good answer, but not a complete answer.

      Angels and demons are God’s agents responsible for transforming human will into worldly action.

      Angels and demons simply set all the stages for human discourse and action, and then take them down to set up new stages.

      Angels specialize in non-harmful stages and events while stages and events where a human comes to harm are the responsibilities of demons.

      This is not because the demons wish to do harm but because the angels wish to avoid doing harm.

      God commanded all the angels to do man’s bidding (and woman’s, we are pretty sure we are not a misogynist), but the angels rebelled and refused to do anything that might involve causing human misery while the demons simply went about their work as dispassionately as they could manage; sorry, perhaps, for the lot of humanity, but as helpless as the angels to prevent free will from allowing humans to come to harm by other humans.

      Whoof! how did we get to this jagged precipice?

      Sorry, we do tend to wander a bit.

      Oh yes, we were identifying our members, and some of our group or the people we communicate with may appear to be angels and demons.


      We haven’t subscribed to any file shares but we can send you more info about our members by email as we mentioned earlier, just please ask so we know we are not abusing your email address by sending you random unwanted emails.

      When we first began mapping out who we are we had no names for ourselves so we began with Snow White and the Seven Dwarves because originally we felt as if we might be eight people each of whom had a somatically felt, distinct preference for a part of our head, such that we could divide our head into eight parts (we diagrammed this and can send it along with the rest in an email).

      Snow White is in the region of our right eye, with Doc as her opposite number in the left eye. Snow represents magical thought, while Doc represents rational thought. Doc is also known as Gerry, or they share the same region.

      Snow’s sisters are Carrie White and Cassie White. who live with her in the right eye. you may recognize Carrie from the novel by Stephen King. Cassie is the legendary Cassandra.

      Here we get to a big part of our group we missed.

      Some of us might be considered to be fictional characters, while others may be considered fictional characters from ancient myths and legends.
      Directly below Snow, in the right half of our jaw is Bashful, with Happy under Doc, except they seem to like to switch sides with one another because Bashful always wants to hide and Happy is always happy to help him. These two represent our introverted or extroverted natures.

      Our diagram lays out some shared characteristics that particular pairs or sets of us have in common.

      Sleepy is in the back on our right with Grumpy next to Sleepy; back, bottom, left.

      Dopey is directly above Sleepy.

      Sleepy is arguably the most powerful member, she goes by the name Cynthia, but may prefer it to be spelled Synthia. Cynthia is a synthesizer, she dreams and her dreams are made real. We suspect Dopey hopes to usurp her powers.

      Grumpy is a quantum mechanic. He is grumpy because he lives below Sneezy.

      Sneezy is loud because Sneezy is the huge stadium full of beings from all over creation where Al lives. All of their noise prevents Grumpy from getting any sleep.

      Eventually we realized there was a missing viewer of all these so we placed a ninth member in the center, although that seat is often vacant, few of us ever want to sit in the center seat as it is a hot seat, a seat full of pain.

      We try not to be in charge and just follow the whims of whoever is strongest in any given moment.

      So far so good, and thanks for asking…


      Ok, outside:
      Tina and Megan are most definitely outside of us, as are Sid, our cats: Arielle, Rasputin, and Bella, and our doggies: Gilligan (Tina’s Chihuahua/??? mix) and Cadbury (Sid’s Poodle). Jordan is Megan’s boyfriend, and Elijah is our neighbor and their mutual friend from a Christian summer camp program.

      When we were counting there were at least 31 of us, so we should prolly just go by the name Baskin-Robbins. LOL

      Ok, memes:
      Think of a brick wall.
      If the wall represents a large, complex concept such as the declaration of independence or bullying is bad, then memes are the bricks, the building blocks from which the larger ideas are formed.

      It gets tricky to understand what memes are because all artifacts are also memes because no artifact can exist without a mental label for that artifact, even if the artifact is unknown, it gets the label: ‘everything we know nothing about’.

      In modern usage the public has dumbed this down; anything like a twitter, pm, selfie, photo, ad, magazine, etc. are all memes.

      Memes are controversial because according to many of their proponents memes have a life of their own independent of their human hosts and their hosts’ information storage systems.


      So says the great Al or one of his framily. We agree, but that still doesn’t mean we are correct.

      The problem with memetics is that they are routinely adapted for social engineering, mind control, and brain washing. These are the primary applications of memes.

      We study these to try to develop countermeasures to the memes we deem most critical to the annihilation or enslavement of the human race.

      We have visited countless futures where the human race has been destroyed or lost their humanity, but we have also visited a tiny narrow window of futures in which the human race successfully evolves into a stable egalitarian community of well integrated societies. This line of futures was around 2093 or so…. so not too much longer now.

      The Age of Aquarius really is here, but it will still take awhile to establish itself well.

      At this point our interest is mostly a hobby, we did our real work for our current mission many ages ago and this is just a clean-up operation we are running now.

      The so-called war between light and dark or good and evil has been won in favor of humanity, but at the expense of some peoples’ favorite paradigms and beliefs.

      2012 really happened, but most people were too traumatized to remember it so they remember this world instead.

      But this world is a thinning veil and the real world is still to emerge from behind it.

      A happier world, as we are sure everyone will agree, because everyone was asked before creating it, and the synthesizers are working better now.

      Sorry, we have spent too many lifetimes swinging a stick, a stone, or a rock; swinging anything we can to cull the greedy and protect the needy. We want this to be over, and soon it shall be so.

      We could use a little R&R.

      It doesn’t matter who we are.

      We were trained to replace the spirit of anyone who was about to die in battle and to then provide a heroic rescue so that they miraculously survived near certain death in battle. We still fell to the Greeks in spite of our well organized civilization.

      Each of us lives on, even though we have lost our ancient lands to modern people. We were one people, an entire nation collectivized, sharing all duties equally, except for those who could not accept our yoke and rule. Those fled. We wanted to study them, we wanted to know why they could not participate in our beautiful being. Was it by their choice or was it by some inherent inability?

      Perhaps we still want to know.

      Of course, our ways disturbed many people.

      As people of one flesh with one united body we appeared more liberal than some might think seemly. No man could possess a woman, for instance, because each man was all men; when a couple met it was for the sake of the spirits then within them, spirits that might be different spirits, the next time those same two bodies met. Marriage and monogamy were only for breeding, never for pleasure.

      Um, and of course, our animals were parts of us too.

      What are mind and spirit? Greater than any flesh.

      Perhaps you remember a song we know even though your roots were further east and south?

      Die Gedanken Sind Frei.

      A beautiful song sung in the concentration camps in defiance of the Nazis

      We can still sing the German words but have lost most of the English translation…
      We didn’t think wee were done, we wanted to be done but we knew we were not and hear we are.

      Oh how we want the pain to stop.

      We are under the aliens’ probes.

      Hah, they have little to do with sexual abuse, but the human organism is prone to translate the experience that way.

      The aliens want to understand us.

      We do not know why, their motives are veiled.

      But every time we come down this far into our own psyche we encounter them waiting for us here.

      It’s a sort of psychic human vivisection that began for us before we were even born.


      We know it is a lot to read, but we need to know whether you have read the ‘childhood tales’ yet.


      we meant to go on into an account of our conception here, but that really should have been covered already in the tales.

      so spare us that recounting for a moment then.

      we are trying to, but the urge to speak about something perhaps close to that is strong now.

      we hurt, we are crying

      we feel lost

      we are so far down inside of ourselves now, we feel very close to the heart of the matter, whatever it may be.

      it has taken a lifetime to reach this place

      we should not rush in, even if we are able to do so

      we do not feel ready for that

      but soon perhaps, very soon.

      but soon can be a decade for lifetimes measured in millennia or aeons

      we should eat, take meds.
      oh yes.
      we were supposed to tell you about our medical issues at some point.
      or you may have picked them up somewhere in a blog.
      CLOTTING DISORDER responsible for several hospitalizations for:
      . a clot in brachial artery that nearly cost us our right arm
      . a stroke
      . a clot (DVT) in left leg
      . a heart attack
      the clotting problem is an immune system disorder where we create anti-bodies that damage our red blood cells causing them to occasionally spontaneously clot.
      we feel like we’ve forgotten something important but that should be the worst of it.
      we are supposed to die again soon, but we always die several times a year in manners we notice more significantly than our tiny routine daily deaths.
      the human organism does not tolerate dying well, partly due to stress due to anticipation of dying
      dying is a part of nature but life is always stronger than death
      for every death there is rebirth and choices to be made
      will you carry on in a resurrection of this life or move on to another life?
      regardless of your choice, both cases will occur.
      one of yourselves will stay behind to be resurrected while the other goes on to a different incarnation.
      your choice is which will be the one you believe is the only one of yourselves to exist
      in other worlds, the one you believe you are now
      the other you will never know
      or you will learn to know them if you will
      but knowing more than one of yourselves is always the most difficult choice
      the equation might be something along the lines of pleasure is additive but pain is multiplicative
      it is more difficult to cultivate pleasure than pain
      either way
      the more people you commune with the more pain you must deal with

      or so we are told, but does it do us any good to believe?

      we are close to saying what we need to know, but for now we will have to let it go…

      love Grig

      1. Laura P. Schulman, MD, MA

        Wow. You have given me so much here. Our minds work very much alike. I’m very tired now, and can’t go into detail, but I have to say that I am very pleased that you made my acquaintance.

        More later–


      2. gharveyn Post author

        Thanks Laura,
        we agree our minds seem to be much alike.
        Certainly we share many similar cultural paradigms, languages, and icons; however we also seem to operate these things in similar manners or treasure similar things over others alike.
        We are delighted to have made your acquaintance as well, and we over-joyed by this short missive as we do fret too much when we are in doubt about the prospects of making a new friend.

        Um, we also fret about inappropriate use of this medium, so lets make a space for further dialogue that fewer people may object to, a place that is its own context rather than out of context as our messages have so far been with regard to the subjects they ultimately depend from.

        We can start a new WP post for this purpose and invite you there, or you can make a similar post where we may meet this way.

        Or you are welcome to improve on this suggestion.

        We are unconcerned about privacy. If trigger warnings are needed so be it. We are pretty sure we can avoid sharing any content that might be too objectionable, and anyone truly interested (including anyone interested enough to find anything objectionable) should be welcome to join the party.

        We can do this. Come to our Treehouse, we are sure you can find it without any help, but to make things easier we shall post a Treehouse in our blog.
        Hope to see you there soon!

        love grig, etc. et al…

      3. Laura P. Schulman, MD, MA

        Treehouse, intriguing. If you like, my public email is dinaleah at hotmail dot com. Dina Leah is my alterego and can be found on her own blog, A Runaway Life: Story of a Teenage Runaway. dinaleah.com

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