Missive the Fifty-First
Salt Purifies.
Salt Corrodes.
DATELINE: Saturday, January 20, 2001, at 0300 hours CDT.
Conway, Arkansas, USA
By D. Ebenezer Baldwin Bowles
CornDancer & Company
The saws and sanders on my shop tables may have distracted me — I was shaping and smoothing a sweet piece of cherry into interior trim — but I think, between the whirrs and gnarling, I heard Amir Aczel tell the radio interviewer about a great scientist who was driven into madness by too much contemplation of infinity.
The Sun creeps closer to February. I'm not too curious about infinity, but I've heard about other deep matters that can drive me crazy. I'd just as soon not be driven there. The Sun won't get to the next equinox too soon for me.
On the street corner outside the post office late this afternoon, a man with furtive eyes motioned to me. He was so insistent I had to stop and listen to his offer. He called me aside to a hidden place between two blue-and-white postal trucks. He wanted to sell me some contraband DNA. I told him God is infinite and went on my way.
The Season of Barrenness, Misery, and Death.
I'm wrestling with some fascinating ideas this wintry now. Two or three of them are bursting at the seams of my private little tote bag, where I stuff 'em till they're ready to escape into the light of a byted page. They're just not accessible to me tonight. I'm too bound by the season of barrenness, misery, and death.
If I had enough gumption and a very fast car, I'd drive to Kentucky and walk through the mouth of the Mammoth Cave. The government agents in uniform sell tickets for admission. I could be there by noon. I could sneak away from the tour group and descend into the depths to search for Agharta, the Land of Advanced Races in Hollow Earth at the centre of the planet.
Let me tell you, the limits I threw out the window some time ago. They're laying on a thick bed of old leaves 'neath the Magnolia tree. You must understand that the circumscriptive limitaries have been unbound here in the interior of Cricket Song. Several have landed on the rafters. They are cawing like crows.
Swim with the Blindfish, Watch the Saucers Fly.
At Mammoth Cave I could swim with the blindfish in Echo River. I could rest on the riverbank and watch flying saucers emerge from the limitlessly deep tunnels to dart into the atmosphere and excite the skywatchers. Mammoth Cave, I've been assured, is one of seven secret entrances to Agharta scattered o'er the surface of the globe.
This guy on the radio keeps talking about "a diminished libido." He's got some wonder drug to remedy the condition — and he wants to sell it on the cheap.
"The conception of a hollow earth presented in this book offers the most reasonable theory of the origin of the flying saucers and is far more logical than the belief in their interplanetary origin," the Russian theosophist Dr. Walter Seigmeister Bernard wrote in Chapter Seven of The Hollow Earth. "For this reason, leading flying saucer experts … have accepted the theory of their subterranean origin as against the idea that they come from other planets. The theory that flying saucers came from the Earth's interior and not from other planets originated in Brazil and only later was it taken up by American flying saucer experts."
There's 30 Million of Them Heading Our Way.
Just don't tell that to the Reptoid and Draco Reptilians. You really don't want to make these lizards angry. I've heard from reliable sources that the Reptilians pilot all of the flying saucers. Let's give credit where credit's due. They demand it.
"These Aliens are highly advanced entities but viewed as being of a negative, hostile or dangerous disposition since they regard humans as a totally inferior race," the webmaster at Future Horizons reports. In my opinion he borrowed the information from John Rhodes, the detective who uncovered the existence of the Brotherhood of the Serpent somewhere in Old Mexico.
"The Reptilians would perceive us much the way we would perceive a herd of cattle. There is supposedly a 'driven' planetoid or asteroid inhabited by 30 million of these lizard-folk that is to enter our solar system soon. Supposedly they consider Earth their ancient outpost and want to have complete control over it because their planet is becoming unable to adequately support life."
Does Anyone Know the Difference
Between Eternity and Infinity?
I wonder whom I should take more seriously, the theoretical physicists or the anthrotheosophists, the paleontologists or the phrenologists?
"The atoms would grab hold of the photons," the highly credentialed scientist from the mainstream announced to the astounded audience. "Then they would let them go a little bit later. By grabbing them they would slow 'em down." He wants me to believe he's measured a photon at one kilometer long! Hooey. He wants me to jump in a cab and tell the driver, "Hey, follow that photon!" Hokum.
What is the difference between infinity and eternity? (Now I remember: The famous man who went mad trying to devise the definitive formula for infinity was a mathematician. He got trapped in the continuum and couldn't escape its grip.) My best guess is that one concept relates more to space and numbers, the other more to time and spirit.
As far as my search for answers and formulas is concerned, I've got more zeroes and ones stashed about the room than I'll ever need. I could string 'em together 'till kingdom come and still not stabilize the systems. I'll leave infinity to the scientists, eternity to the priests and imams.
I'm most curious about existence. My exploration of the depths, my subterranean sprint toward the far horizon, gravitates toward the pure and the simple of being.
I've had to pause from my recent explorations, rest up a bit, but I'm going back. When I do, the Sun will offer my only chance to ward off the madness.
On Trial in the Garden of the Invincible Sun.
One of these days if I become mature enough, I'm going to arrive at the Garden of the Invincible Sun, where they shall put me on trial and prove, beyond all her doubts and in contravention to each of my enemy's illusions, that I am absolutely innocent. I did not pick the fruit. All I ever ate of it had already fallen to the lawn.
When I'm found innocent, my slavery shall end.
Until then, however, I've got to be content with the salt and a restricted form of freedom. The twins Jack and Jill told me they found the salt on the wise man's kitchen floor. They were tossin' it into the air to cleanse their souls when I wandered by their spacious, sunny veldt and asked them for some of it.
The salt purifies. The salt corrodes.
The Sunshine, rightly distributed, has the power to triumph over the Moon, but only after the pure light of transcendence arrives upon the dark dreamscape. I need the Sun's rays to tame the beasts of my private Abyss and becalm the stormy unconscious, which our human race collectively shares, and which is also the uncharted land of my explorations.
The Sunshine, wrongly applied, has to power to burn and to slay.
My challenge is to justify my inherent right to transcendence while avoiding the fires of hell. It is merely a test of my sense of timing and the understanding of limits.
Poor old Dr. Bernard? He died at age sixty-four in Brazil. He contracted pneumonia in the damp caves while looking for another entrance to Agharta.
The mathematician? He died hungry and alone at age seventy-three in a German sanatorium. His wife had him committed there. She ignored the old man's pleas to sign his release papers and allow him to come home to die.
WATCH FOR MISSIVE THE FIFTY-SECOND
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