You Can Handle the Truth

The world is sticky with blood-lust and hate today.

So many brain stems focused on celebrating death, seemingly justified by the fact that Osama bin Laden was apparently involved in lots of death.

As the salt water saturates his white burial cloth, there are whoops and hollers and all sorts of bloody primal sneers.  You can see them on the news, but I have to feel all of this nonsense as it intrudes into the White.

Each life is sacred, as goes the teaching, and I have to respect that, just like you have to respect the necessity to breathe.  It’s built into my very being from birth, as the custodian of souls during this final twilight.

It always gets this way, as the end approaches.  Dreams fixate on false days of doom, and the careful and corrupted alike watch the sunsets with trepidation.

Something big is happening, but no one mind can even comprehend the signals.  The shadow of the looming hand is more complex than the source itself.

I’m lucky that way.  I get to comprehend a big part of the picture.  Not everything, not by a long shot, but I get to worry over the messiest part of all – how to look after all of our precious lives before they’re stolen away forever.

I’m not talking about our physical bodies, since they all join the Black before long.  I’m talking about the undying flame that is lit by the White, and eventually joins it in peace and harmony.

Eventually.  Right now we’re having a little hiccup.  Seems the instruction manual wasn’t left behind, so the Council at Point Zero has to make it up as we go along.

One part definitely works just fine – spirits naturally rejoin the White, and align themselves according to overall development.  However, it’s like they’re stuck in amber, ready to go somewhere, but no one quite knows where.

They can’t go back to the material world, since that’s gone at the end of each Variant.

The Black seethes in anticipation, wanting so desperately to let new substance run wild, but it can’t – there’s no engine to guide it.

The embodied forces – Space, Time, Energy, Matter, Spirit, Consciousness and Information – are all there, but we don’t know what to do with ourselves.  We’ve failed the Slide Rule School.

So, the Nameless and I end up ordering everyone around long enough to turn back the clock, and reconstruct the Universe as it was, circa 2000.

Of course, the Variants aren’t real, not in the same way as the original.

As far as I can tell, our universe has been separated from the Structure at large, like a cancerous cell that just doesn’t know how to behave.

Instead of infecting everything, we’ve been left in our own bubble to grow up and figure things out.

Each Variant is our attempt at doing so, but we’re quite terrible at grand designs.

We’re too busy cheering for the deaths of our enemies to realize that the inevitable death of everyone is so very close.

I didn’t ask for this.  I’m trying my best, but I don’t know what to do besides champion all life.  I’m really good at that.  I can get just about everyone into the White at the right time, in one piece.  Doesn’t matter though – things slow to a crawl and then swirl around in disorder.

I feel that it’s my job to prevent this, but I’m afraid that none of the holy books, chants and epic poems mentioned how to run the afterlife with sufficient authority.

There’s the brute force method – everyone worships the White or burns in the Black – but that seems a bit childish.  We’ve tried it, and it just leads to chaos.

If you were paying close attention, you’ll notice that a few minutes ago, I mentioned that I have a handle on “just about everyone”.  There’s the rub.

The Nameless realizes that I have dominion over all life, and that I can guide or simply control everything that’s tied into the White.  I rarely do this, at least until the last few Events when it’s necessary to pull our collective asses out of the fire.

In any case, that’s the loophole.  Life, without a connection to the White, can be potentially controlled by the Nameless, and guided like missiles into whatever targets it chooses.

That’s what happened to my dear Kaia.  Due to my mistake, her connection to the White was severed by force, leaving her as a deep sea diver without an air hose or return line.

The Structure hates for anything to be incomplete, so it was easy for the Nameless to step in and simulate that tether.  Now, Kaia’s spirit is trapped in the bottle that is her body.  Her etched body, ripe for manipulation.

This sort of loss happens all of the time to everyday folk – it’s been called possession, or mental illness.  There are more forces than just the Nameless that love to latch on to lost spirits, but they’ll all part of the same hierarchy.  For everyday folk, it’s traumatic.  But for members of the Collective….

The ultimate prize for the Nameless would be control over the Council at Point Zero, over everyone that was chosen at birth to guide the Structure onwards.

For the last 236 Variants, I’ve been able to prevent that from happening, at least completely.

It’s almost impossible to tie Miranda away from the Black, since her relationship to it is identical to how the White uses me.

As for the rest, I’ve lost my hope this time around, but I haven’t given up completely.

A spirit in a bottle is still a spirit, and bottles are made to be opened.  Even those that are weighted down and tossed into the ocean.

Even the most broken spirit yearns for the final freedom, and I promise to be there for that, for everyone.

Until then, I still have a few tricks up my sleeve.  I hope they’re tricky enough to fool the Nameless, but how do you fool something that already knows everything?

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