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(Chapter 5: The Sound of a Bird Woke Me)
The Sound of a Bird Woke Me
After a narrow escape from a nuclear holocaust, two friends see themselves as the sole survivors of two families, though hoping against all odds that the others may have survived, and that they will find them again, as unrealistic as this hope is by what they experienced in their participating in desperate rescue missions. After a long run they end up alone, with their humanity suddenly becoming more precious, something to hold on to, in a world where the conventional divisions no longer matter, where all this is precious is what remains at the moment and is real.
In those moments, the old marriage barriers become superseded with an intelligent sense of their wider unity as human beings, which before seemed impossible. Great shared trials and tragedies brings the more fundamental aspects to light that previously had been blocked by a long and carefully practiced civility. Though they never speak about the Principle of the Universal Marriage of Humanity as Human Beings, they begin to experience its essence and the unfolding brightness of it. In this environment it becomes evermore plain to them their personal involvement in the evermore critical rescue missions, which need to continue, becomes an imperative that they cannot evade.
The dialog presented here is of the 5th chapter of the novel, Brighter than the Sun, by Rolf Witzsche. This dialog is juxtaposed with a purely theoretical scientific exploration of the Principle of the Universal Marriage of Humanity, presented in a different dialog, in a different novel, and under totally different circumstances, in the story of a Christmas Present.
The point in bringing both aspects together is to illustrate the primary value of this principle as a natural principle. This juxtaposition is critical in the current timeframe (2014) where nuclear war is on the table more intensely than before, for the eradication of Russia and China for purely political and monetary objectives by the masters of empire, and evidently also for the often demanded depopulation of the Earth from the current 7 billion people to less than 1 billion. Nuclear war is on the table, as officially stated, to recreate the "golden age of feudalism" in which the system of empire flourishes unhindered, and is able to force all nations to surrender their sovereignty to the looting system of empire. Russia and China have made it amply clear that they will join hands and defend themselves against the worst attacks on them, with all possible means, rather than surrendering and laying themselves down to die under the boots of empire.
The nuclear war policy is on the agenda. The survival of humanity depends on its success to block and scrap the war agenda. The empire will not relent. Its monetarist system is bankrupt and has already bankrupted much of the world. Historically, its response to such situations has been war. Humanity can still scuttle the war agenda by finding a greater sense of value in itself, in its humanity, and its power as human beings. This brings to light mankind's universal marriage to one-another as human beings, and this honestly by becoming increasingly in love with their humanity. In this environment a system of empire cannot survive. Ultimately, this environment is required to enable humanity to meet the Ice Age Challenge before it, in 30 years time. While the dialog doesn't focus onto any of these issues directly, it does focus on what is precious about our humanity, which is fundamental to everyone of the great existentially critical issues of our time.
It was late afternoon. The birds' voices rang shrill and clear over the silence. A gentle breeze swept through the apartment. Jennie was still sleeping. The air was fresh, smelling of the sea.
As quietly as I could, I made my way to the kitchen. I had a craving for tea. I put the kettle on and sat by the table in the living room enjoying the sunshine that came through the partly drawn curtains. The atmosphere created a warm, peaceful feeling that underlined the stillness of the hour. The mellow sunshine shimmered in the palm leaves near the balcony, where a lizard made its way up the brickwork of the building. It moved effortlessly. It halted once, looked into the room through the window and continued straight up the wall. Moments later it disappeared. I went onto the balcony to see where it had gone. I couldn't find it as if it had vanished off the face of the Earth.
In the distance, a sailboat negotiated a turnabout in its play with the wind. On the grounds below us children were playing, diving into a circular swimming pool, and splashing each other.
I leaned over the railing to watch them. As I did, I remembered Harry's kids. Seeing the children at play jolted me. I felt a sudden emptiness. Fiona came to mind. Could I have seen her at the airport behind the wall of plate-glass if I had known that they were there? They must have been all there. They must have seen my plane approach. Fiona might have been told that this was daddy's plane. But they saw me pass them by without stopping at the most dangerous hour in their life, a mere ten feet over the runway, hardly a thousand feet from where they stood. We had come so close to meet, but too distant to touch and too far for a cry to penetrate.
I was glad when the kettle began to simmer. It woke Jennie. When I noticed her, she stood drowsily in the balcony doorway. She yawned, then joined me at the railing. She brushed her hair back, looked into the sunshine, squinted, then smiled at me.
"How fortunate she is, to be partly asleep," I thought. She didn't seem tortured by the thoughts I had just encountered. Hearing the kettle boil I went into the kitchen to make tea. The kitchen counter was open to the living and dining room area of the apartment. I could see Jennie perfectly from the kitchen as she stood in the light of the setting sun. She stepped back after a while, put her hands over her head and leaned against the frame of the balcony door, still looking out towards the beach. She said she was glad to see the sunshine.
Seeing her in the thin nightgown that I had bought her aroused a deep, profound feeling in me that became almost painful. Her silhouette was like a scene from a dream world in the light of sun touching her. Although she probably wasn't the beauty queen of the world, to me she was more than that. What I saw was angel, excitingly female, beautiful to look at. Only once before had I felt anything nearly as powerful as this, when I first met Melanie. Now this feeling resurfaced again in a new dimension. It pervaded my being. It fed me with life. It separated the moment from the logical, the familiar, and the things I had control over. It was insanity in the conventional sense, but it was totally sane in our new unfolding reality and Jennie was at the center of it.
This response, a response to a greater sanity, seemed to be built into the design of the human being that thereby becomes transposed into the surreal world where the conventional is replaced with the wonderful and the inexplicable. A door had been opened between us by the recognition of a truth that had been stored away in consciousness to be triggered into life by a greater openness towards reality. With so little certainty left now in the world, our being together became more profound in its reality. She was tangibly real. Our being together was real.
I remembered the day when I first met Jennie high up in the Rocky Mountains. She was coming out of Frank's camper to greet me. I had already felt a bit of that same feeling then. For one brief fleeting moment something had happened that day that had brightened the world. Perhaps it was the surprise of the situation that allowed her to respond without reservation to the innermost design of her as a human being, letting go for that moment all the traditions of relationships, responsibilities, commitments, obligations, and the myths surrounding them. There had been magnificence in this moment, a brightness that made the glaciers appear dull by comparison, and the mountains insignificant. Moments later when Frank introduced us the formality of it became a call to 'order' that drew the attention back to the conventional world by which the magic ended. Still, its echo had lingered in the mind.
Seeing Jennie leaning in the balcony doorway re-kindled still another feeling, one that I had first felt at the beach after we arrived on the island. It came as a sense of peace that unfolded by taking a holiday from the so-called real world, setting aside all the rationality of the ages that has kept mankind 'politely' distant from each other, including Jennie and I.
I knew that it was not by accident, therefore, that the nightgown, which I had bought Jennie for a present, had been selected by me for its exquisitely thin fabric that now appeared almost transparent. I should have looked away from her according to the rules of politeness, but there was something in the honesty of the moment that didn't allow this. Also, I had the feeling that I was not the only factor in the equation of this moment of peace. Humanity played a large role in its unfolding. I realized that I hadn't designed the nightgown that I had bought. I had merely bought it. It already existed when I entered the store. It had been created for a purpose, perhaps the same purpose that it now fulfilled, a purpose that is rooted in the design of our humanity, a design to acknowledge and respond to what is intrinsically beautiful and good.
Jennie's slender body stood darkly against the sunlit fabric. The sunlit gown suited her. She looked grander in it, grander than the most beautiful model may ever have looked, and more exquisite than the most exquisite work of art. How could I not gaze at her? How could I look away?
Gazing at her was wonderful. Nor did I design the feeling that I felt. I didn't design humanity. I wanted to touch her, kiss her nipples - right through the fabric if it had to be - run my hands over her back, her thighs, her chest. I felt infinitesimally close to her!
I knew that Melanie would never have allowed this, nor would have Jennie herself, just a day earlier. But now, we lived in another time. Our world had been turned upside down. We had become a part of another world in which everything that was human had become immensely more precious.
In the background to this peace and joy, thoughts of doubt resurfaced. I feared that we would never see Frank or Melanie again. We had bee hoping against hope that they were still living, somewhere on this earth, we had been building scenarios that they might have escaped by. But was this just hopeful dreaming? They seemed too far distant, too far out of reach. And even if they lived, how would we ever find each other again in this overturning world? I wished them well. I wished them a good life wherever they would end up if they still lived. I dearly wished that we would see them again, but I wished more deeply that they would find hope, peace, joy, and happiness until that day would come. I wished that their world would be one without grief and without pain. I also knew that I was dreaming again. The world had become too much a caldron of agony for that to be likely.
From the political and romantic fiction novel by Rolf A. F. Witzsche
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