A Walk With You

What silent mysteries
Shudder in your soul?

What quiet moonlight
Falls upon the ridge

Of your back? Deeper
Where the shimmering

pool quakes. What whispered
There beyond the dream?

What thoughts drive you to
The wonder in your eyes?

What beauties sing in your
Heart, and what loves?

What distances between
The trees, and what fogs

Across the meadows of dew?
What morning is born there

With you upon the wings
of dawn? What shimmer?

What rainbow? What throb?
What gentle caress? What

Held in my arms, firm
But soft, not as a captive

But as a conquerer?
What futures and what pasts?

What silent mystery
shudders in my soul?

The Garden

I enter the garden
it is quiet here
peaceful
serene

the silence fills the air
like a trickling fountain

there are those who stand about
and wear their peace
like robes of solitude
basking in the beauty

I make my way first
toward the mother
who sits enthroned in the center
my trembling genuflection
briefly passing between us
as I bend over and kiss
the worn smooth surface
of her face

this is my window
into heaven

I rise and make my way to another
and when I have kissed them all
I take my place amidst
the waiting ones

we enlarge our hearts
and empty them
the smooth silk of hope
rising from a passing censor


* * *

It echoes inside...

For many months I have wearied myself
from this walk of disruption

I see as if in a dream
that I have sent countless lives
into a turmoil
with my kicking
and thrashing
and longing to be understood

I have work to do
why don't I just leave everyone alone
and go back to it?


* * *

The beauty consumes me
it soothes my weary mind
and laps at the edges of my soul
like the waters of a peaceful lake

I make myself invisible
but still I feel the eyes
burning into my back
the side of my face
my soul – the eyes
and the questions

the sense of loss
and the sense of anger
everywhere I go
those eyes!
once filled with such
mystery and wonder

(perhaps I should not remember
it like this, but instead
the greeting smile)

* * *

I unfold my heart
and tell him everything
I have inside

there's the look of weariness
the sense that he feels so helpless
as the healer – how to heal my soul

we go through the motions
because that is all we have
grace must come from beyond us


* * *

I resume my place again
in the grove

the new leaves shine brightly
glistening as tears

the bark is white and smooth
you can feel the sap
coursing through veins

a breeze comes through the branches
a song

I breathe
that's what I am here for

and everyone else?
they have each entered their private garden
and who am I to guess or say
what they find there?

I must forget them
leave them
and find myself alone
amidst the chaos and beauty

we are humanity
each and all and every one
a single unique humanity


* * *

the shafts of light come through the trees
glistening on the prayers as they rise
their subtle nuances caressing the soul

I know the best place to be in this life
it is here in the grove
amidst the holy ones
verdant with the beauty of open arms
as they rise up their sturdy trunks
to the heavens

there they are crowned with praise

and I find myself so insignificant

even my sins become nothing more
than compost
to feed them


* * *

I wear my folly as a crown
woven in leaves of springtime
and autumn

I cast my cares as bread
to the birds that are willing to take them


* * *

the silence echoes again
the silence and the beauty
my eyes are filled with tears
and I hope no one can see them

they will lock me up
if they find me here like this

in our world
tears must be hidden

I need not ask myself their cause
but I ask myself if that is as it should be

I explore blind alleys
and dark hallways
in my soul
the paths that perhaps
should be left unexplored

the silence and the mystery
and the beauty goes on around me
I am there, but I am not
I am somewhere within here
captivated by my hopes and my dreams
lost in the dying breath of my ambition

I find a true gem
to hold as my own sorrow

I will wear this sorrow
as a glory and a crown

It is the sorrow that I care not what others think
but will forge my way forward into the unknown
because I believe it is the holiest of holies
who has made for me a path there

it is a lonely path
private and misunderstood

when I love someone or something
it is seen as decadence and obsession

when I give up someone or something
it is seen as hopelessness and despair

such is the way of the poet

we are not meant to live true
but to live in never-ending layers of falsehood
each wrapped
more tightly about ourselves than the last

an accommodation to all who find us
to give them the means to calculate the measure of our souls
because most people cannot endure to encounter
something they cannot quantify and measure


* * *

the beauty comes back to me again
as a breeze

the branches sway and glisten
the shafts of light seem to alter
slightly as if a passing ghost
has disturbed them

a song arises from the woods
my heart is so full I cannot bear it

I know the path I must walk on
I know that forgiveness and understanding
is in the depths of the woods
dark, dank and deep
on my left-hand and my right
but my path is straight forward
toward the light
glistening with my tears

I will encounter reconciliation
when they are ready
to give up the lies they've chosen to believe

it is not for me to choose the place
or the time, but to walk forward
carefully and cautiously into the unknown
bright with beauty and mystery
glistening as the stars


* * *

the garden dissolves around me
I am a different man now
but I have not given up the truth

the wood, the hay, the stubble
it has been burnt up in the fires of beauty

now truth rises up as a gemstone in my heart
a sapphire burning brightly with mystery
a ruby burning brightly with passion
an emerald glistening green with promise
a diamond glistening with hope

there are mysteries I have encountered here
there has been conflict and misunderstanding
I bear much of the fault
and tears will come again
because I know this

but I cannot bear the fault
nor blame myself
for someone else choosing to believe a lie
and there is nothing I can do to convince
anyone of the truth

I will walk forward in hope
and beauty of soul
I will walk forward in determination
and in truth

if falsehood and lies snatches at my feet again
I will trample them beneath my heel
but I will not stop on this journey

* * *

I come to the garden again and again

it is in my soul

Boundaries

how can I love them all?
how fit them all inside?
the heart has no bounds
and yet there is turmoil and confusion

Selah

to love them all
fit them all inside
this boundless heart
to nourish those who need it with love
to cherish their dreams and ambitions
as if they were my own

to reach out and to embrace
to kiss a face full of tears
and provide a shoulder
strong arms to shelter from the storm
and warmth to nourish the soul

there is only so much room here in my heart
how do I love one without making another jealous?
how do I know what portion to give to each?
and if I give
does what remains get any smaller?
is there enough for everyone?

a shelter from the pain of loss
holding a world of dreams
and sorrows

to rise from the ashes of misunderstanding

there are some places I cannot reach
some corners of the hearts that have found shelter in me
that will not let me draw near

how can I shine a light in those dark places?
how can I drive away haunting memories and fears?

I cannot turn toward the face that smiles
and neglect the one that sorrows
I cannot give myself to the innocent and young
neglecting those who hold epochs of misery
how to write them all
in such a way that they are given back their vision?
how to inscribe my mysteries in their hearts
so that each can be named and enumerated?

to give wings to some dreams
without crushing others
to give love to someone in need
without leaving others wanting
to spread myself out across the universe
without spreading myself to thin

there are no boundaries to the heart that sings

The Empty Spot

There is an empty spot
in my soul
a hunger

and I keep filling it up

with poison

I fill, and empty, and scrape away the torn tissue and unfulfilled dreams
so that each time the empty spot is cleansed of its impurities
it gets bigger

some day I fear it will swallow me


* * *

there is love, yes even love
in my soul that the empty spot cannot consume

there is fear and trembling

there is a quiet wind
and a breath of peace

there are gentle wings rising upon the dawn

that gives me hope

* * *

There is an empty spot
in my soul
a thirst

and I keep filling it

with tears

I fill, and empty, and scrape away the torn tissue and unfulfilled dreams
so that each time the empty spot is cleansed of its impurities
it gets bigger

some day I fear it will drown me

* * *

there is love, yes comes again
with gentle smile and tender words

there is fear and trembling

there is a quiet wind
and a breath of peace

do not break the heart of the dove

that gives me hope


* * *

There is an empty spot
in my soul
a hunger

and I keep filling it

with desire

I fill, and empty, and scrape away the torn tissue and unfulfilled dreams
so that each time the empty spot is cleansed of its impurities
it gets bigger

some day I fear it will burn me

* * *

there is love, yes love again
hidden in the darkness and shadow

there is hope and anguish

there is a quiet wind
and the stench of death

there are scales dropping to the dust

that gives me hope

* * *

dream.... of peace and understanding, of anguish no more
of possibility and meaning
of wholeness...

the salt stings, the fire burns, the eyes look through my soul
and all that I am is emptiness
with a place inside for you

[Please keep in mind that this is entirely a work of fiction!]

I agonized on the drive home over all the things in my heart that are currently disturbing me. I counted them, numbered them, schemed.

And I remembered those who loved me.

When I arrived at home I would attend to them first, discussing with them some important plans that had been eluding me, some important issues that were facing us as a family. We would discuss them and come to terms, and invoke a plan, and follow it. All would be well.

And once it was well, I would retire to my cave and seek out the things that distress me in my own heart. There I would agonize over them in the darkness as I do now.

There I would attend to them and make them my own. I would not name them, no they would name me. And I would touch every pain in every dark corner of my soul. I would poke at each and disturb it, because I could no longer bear not knowing each distortion by name. I could no longer bear hiding from myself my own sins.

It didn't work out this way.

I arrived at home and unleashed my anguish on those I loved. We discussed those things that had been eluding us, but through an agony of phrases and misspent words. We came to terms, but fell short of invoking a plan. There were tears and there was love and there were hugs and affection.

And then a moment or two of peace.

Now I retire to my cave to attend to my foolishness, to touch the places that hurt so that I know I am alive. I stare into the darkness, hoping to see a glimmer of some incandescent beauty that will nourish my soul. But all I see is the darkness, staring back at me like a bitter black mirror.

It has been a really long time since I've posted here.

I'm going to cut the nonsense, and go directly to the heart. Please consider yourselves forewarned.

Mind Like an Onion

Today I got in my Daily Buddhist Wisdom the following:

"Our mind is like an onion, and each day and month of practice progressively peels away the layers of delusion."

-Geshe Ngawang Dhargyey, "Advice From a Spiritual Friend"

Ain't that great!

Well, I'm no Buddhist (I read these things because they are entertaining and thought provoking) but I thought it was kinda spooky the way this topic popped up. Peeling away the layers of delusion! Yes, that's what I'm doing now that I'm free from the Eternal Order of the Onion!

Regards

Teddy

The End of the Onion

Well, at long last it has come to an end. I finally saw through their fraud and brought to an end an "adventure" of some long months serving the Order of the Onion.

It was a single thing that sparked the downfall of the Order in my eyes: I wanted to write an article.

Well, with all this practice (okay, I admit I haven't been posting lately) I decided to write a little essay on the Order of the Onion. Well, really there were two problems with that. For one, they were never going to let me publish my little essay anyhow - more on that later. And second, when I started digging into the past of the Order of the Onion I found some unusual circumstances - well, unusual is probably an understatement!

Well, we all know the purported history of the Order of the Onion. If you don't know the whole story, you can read about it here. Anyway, it supposedly all began in an Iowa onion farmer's field. (You notice I don't capitalize onion any more?) Well, I decided to do some research on John Mack, the onion farmer, and what do you think I found out? The best that anyone can tell me, Mr. John Mack, onion farmer who on that famed starry August night in 1943 had a vision in his field, never even existed! That's right. I couldn't find a shred of evidence that he ever existed.

And what do you think Jer Meloncampf (that fraud!) said when I asked him about this?

"Maybe you shouldn't be writing this article at this time? It appears as if you are not ready for it. You are not yet wholly attune to your inner onion."

Wholly attune to my inner onion? What a crack-pot! I'm just flabbergasted that it took me so long to realize it. All those late nights standing on street corners in downtown Seattle handing out tracts.

Well, I didn't realize it right at first.

"I've been trying," I said.

It was true. I had been every Thursday night to the unraveling session in the onion bowl (a completely spherical room at their Seattle Church Headquarters.)

"You know, we knew we were taking a risk letting a level 1 initiate write an essay about the Big O." (That's what those wise crackers call it, the Big O.)

"But you said this would be good for me. Help me launch my writing career."

Well, I realized right then: that was the bottom line. What I really wanted deep down inside all along was to become a writer. But what I also realized may have been far more important. They were never going to let me publish my article in the first place. It was all a big fraud - another aspect of their freakish mind control. In fact, I'm tempted to think they are not actually connected with The Onion like they said.

So, now I've actually abandoned the Order of the Onion and I'm going to try to become a writer on my own.

More later!

T.a.d.

I've been awfully busy the past several months, but I thought you should know:

You are the Onion of my life!

Just think about that. How many layers and layers deep you are!

Well, you see I've been working so hard for the eternal order of the Onion the past several months, that I hardly have time to dream. But I had a horrific dream last night.

I was laying in my bed and suddenly felt the world arise in flames around me. When I awoke I was disoriented but somehow managed to realize that it wasn't flames I was seeing everywhere. No, I was laying in a field of red flowers.

They were strange flowers. They looked like roses but they grew on stocks close to the ground.

Bye for now!
Teddy

This site has been updated recently. It looks interesting:
Dragons Cleft - Home of Arthur Pennybog

A lot of potential but nothing there yet!

no posting lately?

Sorry, I'll be back...

testing, testing, 123

Another Dream

darker...

It has been a while since I've posted anything.

Well, I'll explain that in a minute, but I'm posting because I've had another one… another dream. A haunting dream. This one, I would even call a nightmare.

I was running. I was running down a hall and all the doors were closing on both sides of me as I came near them. I could hear them slam and bolt shut, one by one by one…

And I kept running.

I know why I was running too… someone was chasing me.

I could hear their steps echoing down the passage way behind me. I was afraid to turn and look behind me… afraid for how near they might be… afraid of what they might look like…

The terror welled up within me as I ran. I was yearning to look back, and yet yearning all the more to get away. The fear of what was behind me intensified. I wanted to look… to see what it was for sure. I wanted to turn around and look… but I couldn't. The fear controlled me.

And it didn't stop.

I kept running and running until I thought my heart would burst, and all the while the fear kept welling up inside me, and then, suddenly, it burst.

I shot up in bed wide awake, drenched with sweat, and breathing heavily.

So, now I've gotten out of bed and come to tell you.

It is a little bit of a relief to say something, but I'm still afraid. I'm afraid to go back to sleep.

What if it happens again?

But then again, I'm afraid to sit up. I drew all the drapes, closed the kitchen blinds. But the darkness outside is foreboding – it narrows in on me, seeming to crush my tiny apartment in its grasp.

I thought at first I would feel better to climb into bed, and pull the covers around me. But that didn't do. I could still hear those echoing steps running behind me.

Well, I'll tell you what I've been doing and maybe that will help.

I had some community service to do on account of the assault charges. So, I've been volunteering to hand out leaflets for the EOO. You remember the Eternal Order of the Onion?

It really isn't so bad. In fact it is kinda interesting. Most people don't even look at you while you stand there, but every once in a while someone actually stops and talks.

Like Martha. She's been stopping and talking to me every day. I think she's pregnant. Anyway, she says she's really into the onion thing. It reminds her of being pregnant. She hasn't said that she's pregnant, but you can kinda tell she's a bit round down there… like the onion. How when you peel off layer after layer there is a baby inside. (Her words, not mine.)

Anyway, I feel sorry for Martha. I think she's homeless and pregnant, but I'm not sure. She walks around on the streets late at night stinking of alcohol and somebody else's cigarettes. At least I've never seen her smoking herself.

I'm not into the onion thing myself. It was just something to do to get my CS hours.

Well, I'm kinda sleepy. I think I'll try and hit the sack once again.

TaD

Well, so I am back. There is so much to say that I almost can't think where to begin. But I'll start at the beginning and work my way from there. You are probably wondering why I was in jail, right?

Damn good to be out of that rat hole!

Anyway, it all started at my neighbor's party. Well, I guess it even started before that. I had another one of those dreams, you know. Where they are unscrewing a wooden lamp from some lady's torso. It's really a wierd dream, because the lady comes in the door, screaming and covered with blood. Her friends (are they really here friends?) gather around her and offer to help. They uscrew the wooden lamp from something that looks like a slot near her neck. There is now even more blood, but the soman actually seems to be okay.

She sits down on the couch and says: "Shit, that was awful. Someone bring me a cup of tea!"

And then I wake up.

Now as you recall, I recognized that wooden lamp. My neighbor across the hall has one just like it in his living room. So, I got antsy. I saw my neighbor was having a little party and I decided to wander across the hall and invite myself. There remained two little mysteries I wanted to try to unravel: his missing girl friend (I mean the lady lived with him for years!) and the fact that I'm pretty sure I saw my missing paperback book sitting on his coffee table through the open doorway.

So, I wander over to his party, and at first I am relieved. He acts like he invited me!

But then I start to get suspicious. All these people are acting too much like they know me! How? I've never seen them before. And then I wonder... are they the same group of strangers that was gathered at his apartment (now I'm sure it was his apartment) in my dream??? And if they are strangers, how is it they are so friendly to me... act like they know me.

So, I try to conquer my nervousness and start asking Andy's friends about his girfriend. Nobody knows. They haven't seen her in weeks... but why don't I ask Andy. It isn't a big deal. Andy goes through girlfriends like chips. Treats them about the same way too. And then they start laughing. Treats them the same way - laughing!

So, now I start to really wonder. Not just about Andy but about his friends! "But Carolynn was a real nice lady," I tell one of them. "She was friendly to me every time I passed her in the hall." And he starts laughing even more than the other guy did. "Say, Andy! Listen to this kid!" he shouts. "Carolynn was getting fresh with him in the hallways. Maybe this guy knows something about why Carolynn left you, bud!"

Now I'm starting to flush with anger. I get up and start pacing, taking deep breaths - ignoring the jibes and jeers all around me.

But, the real problem maybe is that by now I've had too much to drink. Andy comes over to me and gets right in my face. I mean RIGHT in my face! I can smell the sour cream and union dip on his breath. That, and cheap bourbon. And he smiles at me. Smiles at me while I am shaking with anger.

"What did you do to her?" I shout. I never should have done that. "What did you do to her!"

And now the whole room is laughing.

"Wanna pull down your pants, buddy, and I'll show you," he answers. Calm as can be.

So now I'm pissed. I take a swing at him. And before I know it three or four of his buddies are on me. I'm fighting and squirming and after a minute of this I black out, and the next thing you know I wake up in the infirmary at the county jail.

So get this. My neighbor kills his girlfriend. What for? I haven't figured out the motive yet. But I end up in jail for assault. They said I wasn't invited, and that I had barged into his apartment and picked a fight.

So, now there's this restraining order, too. How the heck am I supposed to stay away from the guy when he lives across the hall from me?

This really sucks.

But I've got more to tell. I'll try to get to it later. Can't afford to spend too much time on the net just yet. But I found my book... the missing one. And that is even more suspicious than the missing neighbor lady.


All for now.

Theodore Alfred Dennison

For Your Information Only

Mr. Dennson asked that I log into his blog and inform his readership that he is currently unavailable, serving 20 days for assault. He will be out on the 11th possibly earlier. I'm sure he shall have something interesting to say for himself at that time.

Jonathon T. Barkington, Esquire
Attorney at Law

http://www.barkington.com

The Book and The Dream


It's getting stranger: the situation with the book. Now, it isn't a big deal - I mean, who really cares if my neighbor across the hall stole my book, but it is just the fact that I fell asleep with it in my hands and woke up with it being in the neighbor's apartment across the hall that is so unsettling.

Anyway, I was in the grips of a good story and had to go out and find that book again. It pisses me off because I bought it for half price at the used book store, and had to pay full price for it at Barnes and Noble the second time.

So, I start reading chapter 4. Check this out! This is Terry Brook's Running with the Demon, from page 45:

"The demon stepped out into the midday heat in front of Josie's and felt right at home. Perhaps it was his madness that made him so comfortable with the sun's brilliant white light and suffocating swelter, for it was true that it burned as implacably hot. Or perhaps it was his deep and abiding satisfaction and knowing that this community and its inhabitants were his to do with as he chose."

He followed Derry Howe and Junior Elway to the later's Jeep Cherokee and climbed into the cab with them, sitting comfortably in the backseat, neither one of them quite aware that he was there. It was one of the skills he had acquired -- to blend in so thoroughly with his surroundings that he seemed to be a part of them, to make himself appear so familiar that even those sitting right beside him felt no need to question his presence..."

Isn't that spooky! I wonder if there could be anyone like that.

Anyhow, it gets spookier than that. As I was reading this book I started to realize that the face I had given in my mind's eye to The Demon was somehow familiar to me. I started thinking where I had seen that face before: and guess where? It was the guy standing on the street corner from the Eternal Order of the Onion. And so as I was reading, and thinking that somehow I had given this man's face to The Demon in the book, the words slowly began to dissolve and all I saw was the Onion. The great crystalline blue Onion! And somehow I managed to fall asleep reading that book again (never fear, the book was lying on my lap when I awoke!) and I had a dream.

I dreamt that I was feeding a baby ice cream. Kinda weird, because I can't remember ever feeding a baby before. This baby was sitting in a high chair with his puffy, marshmallow baby face gazing up at me, and I was putting spoon after spoon of ice cream into his puffy little face. And as I fed him his face got rounder, and puffier, and suddenly he was laughing at me and saying something in French, and I realized that he wasn't a baby any more, he was full grown. Then I suddenly realized who he was! It was Harold Zidler (Jim Broadbent) from Moulin Rouge! He was standing there staring into my face, laughing at me, and then he spun away from me and danced into a crowd of revelers. He was wearing his white suit just like in the movie. In fact, the next moment of my dream was exactly like in the movie Moulin Rouge!

Then, the spookiest thing happened. I looked up at the moon, to see if it was really as large as it looked in the movie. And sure enough, it WAS. But the worst thing about it: it wasn't the moon as we know it, pockmarked with craters; it was a pure, pearly white onion!

Well, thankfully I awoke sometime later and didn't remember dreaming anything after that. And as I say, the book was laying on my lap. I've started to wonder: did all this strangeness begin after I started reading that book? No, most certainly not. The dreams have been going on for a long time now. But lately, the way it seems... it is almost like the book is somehow connected with the dreams. And I am still defintely going to try and figure out if my book was actually stolen by the neighbor!

:.\TaD/.:

Okay, now where was I...

I can always blog at lunch and they can't say anything about it. How could they? I'm on my own time now.

As I was saying,

It happened again. That dream. The vivid one. The one where I am standing on a rock at the sea, and suddenly the orb comes toward me. This time it is purple. Oh, I suppose I could say lavender or violet or something quaint like that. No, it's just purple. But a glowing purple. The light seems to radiate from the orb as it descends toward me.

I am enclosed in the orb once again and speed out across the countryside. This time I see I am going to "The Church." I don't know if it is really a Church. It looks like a Church on the outside (little white building with a good old fashioned steeple), but whenever I'm taken inside, it looks like something utterly different: usually a performance or show of some sort. One time it was Michael Jackson singing Kumbaya to throngs of screaming teens.

Well today it isn't Michael Jackson. No, sir, this time it is the Man Himself! The Showman of Showmen: Frank Sinatra. Frank is standing on the stage, and (strange!) behind a pulpit. He's singing a song, but that isn't the first thing I notice. The first thing I notice is that he's flanked on the left and on the right by two strange groups of people. To the left of him standing there in flagrant Purple, Red, Green and Yellow are the four Teletubbies. To the right of him are Emma, Rupert and Daniel. You know who I mean... Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley. They are standing their in their best robes with wands drawn, as if they are about to battle some horrendous foe.

Then I notice the music. Frank Sinatra is singing Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata. Now that is truly weird! I don't know how he could be singing that because of course there isn't any words to Moonlight Sonata - but things do not always make sense in a dream! Anyway, I was thinking of the beautiful blue light of the moon, and slowly the dream dissolved away into a moon - me sitting outdoors at night, staring up at the big beautiful moon.

That's all I can remember. Weird, huh?



::.\Theodore/.::

It came again...

"Lives in a dream
Waits at the window
Wearing the face that she keeps in a jar by the door"
- The Beatles, Eleanor Ribgy (words by Paul McCartney)


It happened again. That dream. The vivid one. The one where I am standing on a rock at the sea, and suddenly..

Oh, heck. Got to Go. The boss just caught me blogging at work.

:.\Ted/.:

Well, I feel like I haven't been able to sleep at all the last couple of nights. It is almost like I'm afraid to because of that disturbing dream I had.

But then, last night something wierd happened. When I fell asleep (and I had this wierd dream - I'll tell you about that in a minute)... well, when I fell asleep I was reading a book. But when I woke up in the morning it was gone. I looked everywhere... under all the covers, even under the bed.

But that isn't the spooky part! When I was going out the door to go to work this morning, I looked in the door across the hall from mine (those people are always keeping their door open, it's freaky!) and guess what I saw? Sitting on the coffee table right behind that lamp (you know, the one in my dream) was my book. Sitting on THEIR coffee table!

Well, okay, I can't prove it was my book, but it sure looked like it: Michael Connelly's A Darkness More Than Night. I can't say for sure, but I'm going to try to get a close look next time I go past and their door is open.

Spooky, huh?

Anyway, about my dream last night...

I was riding on a white horse. I can't remember how the dream started. It didn't start with me on the Rock and the Orb like THE DREAM always does. But I found myself riding a white horse... no I think it was a unicorn because it had a single white horn on the top of its head.

I came to a place where I needed to cross the river and the horse (or rather, unicorn) wouldn't do it. Then the beast talked to me. The water was too muddy, he told me.

Well fine, I thought. So I started to climb off. Then suddenly the thing lurched and almost dumped me into the river. I looked down (hanging half off the unicorn) and now the river was way down below me.

The thing was flying!

It was really wierd, because unicorns don't fly.

Well, that's all for now.

:./Teddy\.:


~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Eternal Order of the Onion

They're always making profound observations they've overheard.
- Gene Kelly in An American in Paris by Alan Jay Lerner

It isn't a dream, but I've just got to tell you about this anyway. It was so wierd.

When I came out of the building I work in downtown this evening, on my way to catch my bus home from work, there was a guy standing on the curbside handing out leaflets, or I should say trying to hand out leaflets. Anyway, I was trying to side step him best I could when I saw an onion out of the corner of my eye and stopped to see what it was all about.

Well, it was all about the Eternal Order of the Onion. Apparently it’s some new cult.

The guy started talking to me right away, of course, since I’d made the mistake of stopping to look at the bright picture of an onion he was holding up on one of his leaflets.

“We realized that god is an onion when we started to notice that the more you know about him, the less you know. I mean, there is simply layer after layer after layer,” he was saying.

“Uh, yeah, right.”

“Here I tell you what…”

I braced myself as he reached into his bag after something. I never should have stopped. The Eternal Order of the Onion? Heck, maybe he was reaching for a gun. Maybe I’d better get going.

But instead he brought out a small paperback book, titled (yes, you guessed it): “The Eternal Order of the Onion.” I was rolling my eyes back and thinking, oh great. The guy thinks I want to join his cult, but no, that wasn’t it at all. Apparently he was so happy someone had actually stopped and looked at him, that he was giving me the book! Now, it’s not that I was itching to read it or anything, but I considered that it may turn out to be quite amusing.

I took the book, thanked him, and to my surprise the guy just stood there with a big grin on his face as I walked away.

Get a load of this:

Pg 36 in “The Eternal Order of the Onion” by Mayagin Phardu:

“God is not a God that can be easily escaped. Take for example the stench that He maketh when he is laid out for a while in the hot sun. This is stench is no coincidence – nor is it simply an artifact of nature, but it is the clear and present danger of His presence: everywhere, filling all things.”

Well, it’s getting late, so I’d better can it for the day. I think you get the idea anyway.

:.Teddy.: