Birthing the Lucifer star

by donna bartley

  *****

  Shirley loaded as many suitcases and overnight bags as she thought she would need for her long trek to North Dakota. She checked off her list, making sure that she had absolutely everything—especially her crystal.

  She was resplendent with material possession, yet she was naked. She was ready to do battle. She did not know the enemy, and she did not know the ally; she only knew that she was being called. She did not know whether the call was coming from a dark, forbidden corner of the earth or from the brightest star in the heavens; regardless, she was taking heed. She would find out what she needed to do.

  Was she capable of fighting a holy war? Holy shit, she couldn’t believe she could, or would, or should be a part of it. Somehow it had chosen her; she had not chosen it. She was sure of that.

  At what cost did true salvation come? At what cost independence? Where the scales of justice were the backdrop of peace and democracy, on this stage where the sum of rights was absolute, where did freedom begin and tyranny end? Was it the prerogative of the people to be exempt from any restraint of thought or physical wandering? And why did this entail martyrdom—the ultimate sacrifice? And why did she feel that whatever lay before her was to redeem the American experience? It seemed far beyond her capacity to deliver a mixed multitude from the throes of inherent evil and corruption.

  She understood that everyone now stood at a time in history when civilization was scarred by the filth of corruption, from the highest rulers to the lowliest caste, where human life was considered cheap and the sanctity of life was marred by man’s inhumanity to man—where people prayed not out of a desire for healing, fellowship, and understanding, but out of hatred, division, and ignorance. Selfish leaders were shoving everyone straight into temptation and into the arms of evil. The atomic clock was ticking, and the eve of destruction was but a holy war away. The field of Megiddo had long since been prepared, waiting for the fallen ones to build up the courage to make use of it …

  Holy jihad! The world was now dangling from its fraying thread, and she, for one, innately felt that the end was near. But now, she was being called upon to take part in something. Was it redemption? Was this the great tikkun? Was this making the path straight for the long-awaited messiah? And why was she being called? She had partaken of the sin of Cain. She was guilty of the most heinous act … yet this might be the only way for her to redeem her own soul.

  Men created confrontation, confusion, ignorance, and fear—to the point of war. There was nothing holy about it. It was fomented as the flame of hatred was fanned by those who profited most from it. But she herself had committed an act of holy war when she took the life of her best friend and lover. Darren was indeed a martyr; had he not died for what he believed in?

  Shirley could not understand the quest for martyrdom. Did not martyrdom assume the state of self-immolation in the face of conceding principles and beliefs? Was martyrdom not the acceptance of pain and suffering before the acquiescing of one’s own convictions? And if so, how did that translate into murdering innocent people? How did blowing oneself up in a shopping mall, going on a shooting spree in a school, crashing a jetliner filled with people, or—frankly—flying over small Muslim villages to drop bombs wherever and whenever possible, regardless of the lives at stake … how did any of those actions signify the acceptance of destiny and self-sacrifice before the deprivation of one’s belief and cause? Was martyrdom even necessary?

  What was this need for suffering and torment? Did pain and torture really bring someone to the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth? Of course, for martyrdom to occur, Shirley had to believe that God both decreed and condoned Cain killing Abel. What was this entity called God? This question had plagued Shirley for her entire life as she searched every holy corner for the answer. That was what she decided she must do: stare into the very guts of heaven to witness “he who sits upon the throne.” Like Ezekiel, she would seek out the Holy Merkabah.

  There were three truths of the human mind: reality, duality, and rationale. Shirley was left to create an explanation for herself, so she had to rationalize her reality in the face of this duality to its concise point. So what was the point? A point in the infinite universe would send out two other points from itself from both sides, and these two points would send out points in multiples of two, until they finally all met again at their point of origin. This was the beginning of movement. The initial point was female (potential). Potential was presented as the womb. The two emitted points were also female, traveling along the infinite, creating eternity. The three together were one and moving, elongating, represented as the male (phallus). So this was where everyone began. Any one person was here, in the infinite universe, which contained an infinite number of possibilities. So, in this universe of infinite possibilities, all of which would come to pass, regardless of odds, how could any given person ever not exist?

  Rationale was everything, yet it was nothing at all. The one many people referred to as God seemed to have given the human mind the ability to reason—a divine gift granted unto mankind to give him the freedom to decide between right and wrong and allow him to make up his own mind and to choose which path he may want to follow. The conscience stayed unaware if one were unwilling to ask himself those questions that have no answers and then spend many sleepless nights trying to find the lessons meant to be learned from that which he will never understand. It was a lust for life and a thirst for experience. It was not the thoughts of those great minds that had come before Shirley and her fellow humans.

  No one should let anyone fill her mind with ideas that she had not already thought of on those sleepless nights that gnawed at her consciousness. The greatest philosophers were those within whom nameless faces of reason created wee, small voices. They were the simple people—stopping to eat from the plate of experience, feasting from a buffet that overflowed with empirical knowledge, and then asking why. Every mind asked the question; it was just whether any given person allowed the question to fully awaken and become lucid in the dream state, before the first rays of the sun painted the rosy cheeks, red upon the breathing beings of this, the everyday waking state known as reality. For in truth, dreams were more real; the many questions plaguing the questioning mind could only be answered somewhere between the realms of dreams and death.

  And now, as Shirley continued to pack her wares for the long trip through sagebrush and bitterroot to the edge of an abyss, the insidious face of the great serpent trying to block her view, she momentarily closed her eyes. She opened them again only to scan the great expanse from the middle of the city to the long, outstretched arms of the Badlands and thought, What can I do?

  Oh! I know not what I can do, but I can try. I can give it a piece of my soul. Yes, I have something to give. They ask for something; I give them this. Purity, come unto me; expurgate my soul, let me taste innocence anew. Come! Come unto me! Free me from the corruption of the flesh.

  The taste of tobacco appeared suddenly in her mouth; she continued to muse on her calling. She was an inspirational speaker; she meditated and entered into a vision; she found herself in front of a large assembly of people—more people than she had ever spoken to at any one time.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, let us raise ourselves. Let us rise like steam from this fetid, rotting hell—this crooked foundation we have erected for ourselves. Remember the vision we had at the start of our quest; do not settle for simulations created by mankind. The realization of that vision is not something to be created; no mere digital or electronic gadget is going to take us to this summit. It is something to become. Shed your ungodly deeds and habits; rip this crooked foundation an arm’s length out of the ground; let us start anew. To attain such a dream is to step into its skin. Come, men, women, children, and all in between; let us exalt ourselves! You have forgotten the taste of purity; you have forgotten how savory and delicious it is! It is beyond all other flavors; it outstrips anything and everything in comparison; it is the greatest of epi
phanies. Come! Mankind, let us cleanse ourselves and become divine! Do not lose yourself; come! May life truly enter into our souls! Let us once more become the pure, innocent children of the earth!”

  This was what she would ask of the crystal: to give her purity of heart and clarity of mind, for all mankind, for all eternity, before the very face of God.

 

  Spirit guide,

  eagles spying on the ground.

  Life is speaking words profound. A little blue, but I’m not down— truth is the beauty that I feel.

  Happiness has come to win. Guide me, time and time again. Show me now, just where and when, your presence is becoming real.