Hell in a Hand Basket (or not) 

By Wakingspirit.com ©

‘You’ve been spying on me…you bastard,’ a deranged man said.

He was crazy…clearly a delusional homeless man. He muttered obscenities and empty threats apparently at an invisible foe.

‘How long have you been following me,’ he blurted out. This time he appeared to be targeting someone in the crowd.

No one knew who he was talking to. He was in his early thirties and although he was short and thin he was muscular and looked like he could put up a good fight if it came to that. He had a beard and long black hair – he looked like Che Guevara.

Over these outbursts he was sitting alone on a row of bench seats on the subway car. He sat on one chair and with his boots up on the other two chairs…he mumbled to himself since he got on the car three stops back, at each stop the ranting got more intense. This happened often enough on the subway…the average person just minds their business and ignores the crazy antics of such lost or hurt souls. No one bothered with him as his eruptions raged on, becoming more an affront to the near-by passengers.

One of the near-by passengers slowly got off his seat and started walking away from the homeless man…trying to put space between them.

‘I’m talking to you,’ shouted the homeless man, ‘don’t try and run away.’ He stomped his foot down on the floor loudly and added, ‘how long have you been following me…which army are you with?’

This time it was clear who the spy was. It was the man who just got off his seat to seek refuge from the onslaught of fury.

‘Hey you, with the red jacket,’ barked the homeless man.

The fleeing man was the only person with a red jacket…he timidly turned around. The fleeing man was in his early sixties. He dressed in causal business clothes and wore fashionable eyeglasses. He was short and stocky and had an unassuming boyish look for his age. He appeared to be a gentle person, but he also looked like he could handle himself if the other man got physical. The two of them were about six feet apart.

‘Yeah, you,’ confirmed the homeless man, repeating, ‘what army are you with…who sent you to get me?’

‘Watch out he’s got a knife,’ a middle aged lady screamed out.

The homeless man had pulled out a hunting knife from his dirty and fraying army fatigue jacket.

‘I’ve been trained to kill a man in a hundred different ways,’ snarled the homeless man, ‘I could cut you up good.’

‘I’m a soldier of peace…a angel of mercy,’ said the fleeing man, ‘I'm following no one…not you…not anyone…I only help people who come to me and ask for it – I’m no threat to you.’

Tears started to stream down the homeless man’s cheeks.

‘Hey, man,’ he said sympathetically, ‘I’m sorry, but someone evil is hunting me down…there is an evil army at work in the world…it’s not safe…you should get off at the next stop…sorry I threatened you.’

At the next stop the subway car doors did not open. There must have been twenty policemen on the platform. They all had pistols pointed at the car. The police covered each of the doors. Four of them took the door closest to the homeless man who was still holding the knife.

The car doors open.

‘Police, drop the knife,’ shouted an officer.

‘You don’t understand,’ yelped the homeless man, ‘this is my holy dagger…without this dagger the evil one will take my soul.’

The homeless man held up the knife. The overhead lights made it flicker making it appear to be in motion even though it was held steady and going nowhere. His eyes went blank and one side of his face went into a strange seizure - spasms and contorted.  He took a single step closer to the police as if some invisible force had pushed him. He looked like a man being prodded and forced to walk off the plank only to plummet to a certain death.

Bang bang bang. Three shots ripped into his chest – the metal projectiles did not come out the other side of the man. He released the knife. It dropped through the air and rang out like a bell as it hit the floor.

The homeless man remained standing frozen like a statue. Even time seemed frozen and the police and crowd were oddly motionless as if caught in some vortex where everything was collapsing in on itself. He caught the eye of the fleeing man – the angel of mercy.

‘I should have asked for your help,’ he whispered, ‘but who can you trust these days?’

The police rushed him. He collapsed to the floor before they reached him. He hit the floor like a rubber eraser. There was no sound…not even the slightest thud. He slumped to the floor and was dead. It was like death slithered in through the backdoor, quickly and silently assailed its victim and left unseen and unheard.

Taras Bula stood watching in disbelief. Everything went down so quickly yet it felt like eternity to him. He wondered if the enraged man would have stabbed him if he had not made up the story about being an angel of mercy. Lucky I know a thing or two about living on the edge of reality, Taras thought, and feeling the pulse of this crazy world too deeply. Lucky Taras knew about the Super Sane...these are people who live with no filters...if a terrorist attack or a natural disaster half way across the world claims lives, the Super Sane feel even more pain for a loss of a victim than a family member of the victim. In this crazy world where alpha apes, calling themselves political and religious leaders, are pissing all over each other and wantonly laming and killing innocent people over their unjustifiable disputes, the Super Sane are overloaded with angst and are tormented beyond their limits - like the man that just died...he was surely Super Sane, thought Taras. It was this empathy for his assailant that likely saved Taras.

I don’t believe it…Taras thought as he noticed how many people had their cell phones in the palm of their hands pointed at the dead man. They didn’t look Human – they were devoid of emotions or feelings – they could have been surveillance drones for that matter. At least a dozen people were videoing the event.

‘My God people,’ Taras blurted, ‘show some respect…a man just died.’

Most of them panned up with their cell phones to include Taras’ outburst in their video.

‘Hey, did you get that old guy’s rant,’ asked one of them.

‘Sure did,’ the other one said, ‘I’ll post it right now – this should go viral.’

   ************************************************************

Taras Bula exited the subway station and walked the rest of the way to his destination – not far. There it was - he entered a McDonalds.

Taras despised McDonalds. He only came to McDonalds to meet his friend Irene Kovalenko for a coffee, have a morning chat and get on the free Wi-Fi. He found Starbucks even more despicable. He’d say it reminded him how the Aryan Race would have proceeded had the Nazi’s won the war – blue eyed, blond haired utopian teenage kids serving up designer coffee and a phoney way of life – beacons of consumerism…the Stepford Customer…what to drink, eat and even what music to listen to – just do it our way propaganda. Irene would remind him that the company was founded by Howard Schultz…a Jew. It’s not about fascism, capitalism or socialism - Elitism won the war, survival of the fittest or shrewdest…the Dictators may be overthrown, but the everyday person is still being dictated to, just different means to the same end – a select privileged group prevails, Taras would reply.

Taras saw Irene at a table with a teenage boy…strange he thought.

Irene was in her early fifties. Unlike most women her age opting for short hair styles, Irene had a lion's mane of long thick brown hair - it made her standout. She was taller than Taras and had a solid curvy build. She was a professor of History at the University - she had an uncanny way of engaging an audience - people listened to her. She was very eloquent and carried over the beauty from her youth with grace and great charm.

Taras got his coffee and joined her.

‘Hi Taras,’ Irene said as he approached the table, ‘this is Solomon my Nephew – we're going to see the Thor movie after this.’

‘Hi Irene…hi Solomon,’ Taras replied.

Solomon held a Smartphone. His fingers were in motion over the screen. He was totally immersed in the device. He did not look up at Taras. He nodded and grunted. It sounded like he said, hey…Taras wasn’t sure if any of this was to acknowledge his presence. It wasn’t odd for Taras to experience this type of behaviour…he encountered it all the time, even from people his age. A strange but fascinating revelation occurred to him. It struck Taras that the Smartphone was a living highly complex parasite that took over and controlled its host – people’s bodies and minds were being interned and controlled by this life form…call it an artificial life form if you want…that didn’t matter. Irene’s nephew was intoxicated as his eyes and hands were fixated on the device…his immediate physical surroundings were irrelevant. Taras was sure this was not a symbiotic relationship where both the host and parasite benefit…he was sure that humans were dispensable and on the losing end of the relationship - maybe a diabolical end. He figured that the Smartphone parasites had to derive a benefit from inhabiting and using its hosts…what could it be?

‘Taras, you look unnerved,’ said Irene, ‘is something wrong?’

Taras’ multi-circuit lighting fast thought processing on the secret parasitical life of the Smartphone was interrupted…he filed it away to be delved into at another time.

Taras explained what happened to him on the subway. He said he didn’t want to talk about it beyond his brief re-telling of the event. Taras often internalized his deepest emotions. He didn’t want to further explore how disturbed he was about his subway experience even though he already had pent up and restless thoughts about what transpired. He felt that if he left these unpleasant feelings chained up in the cellar of his mind they’d go away or at least not surface to upset him. His Shrink also gave him damn good medication to help seal the door closed on wayward and disturbing thoughts. Taras wasn't Super Sane, but he always needed to manage the frequency. His medication kept all this under control over the last decade. The drug was like a having a flimsy swinging door to the basement of your dark thoughts replaced with a self-locking iron vault door.

‘Look at those pathetic people,’ said Taras pointing out the window to the drive-thru, ‘lined up in their cars and SUVs to order their coffee and breakfast.’

‘Why wouldn’t they just park,’ Taras exclaimed, ‘come inside and order – they're all idiots.’

‘You’re an old curmudgeon,’ replied Irene, ‘we have bigger problems in the world than complaining about fast food drive-thru service.’

At that moment two people collided into each other as they walked away from the cashiers, both their coffees flew out of their hands making a huge mess all over the floor. They had phones in their other hands that they dearly clung to. One of them finished a text message before turning to the mess he made. The other one swung around to grab some napkins. He was wearing a backpack that hit another customer sending her cup flying through the air. It was a mess.

‘Idiots,’ Taras said under his breath and shook his head as he gazed over at the aftermath of the accident, ‘people aren’t even aware of their own footprint on this Earth – porcupines at a nudist colony.’

‘The whole world is going to Hell in hand basket – everyone’s priorities are screwed,’ Taras blurted out sarcastically.

‘And now you’re telling me,’ replied Irene, ‘that you’ve given up on the world.’

‘More than given up,’ said Taras, ‘I plan to escape this so called world of manufactured synthetic reason – why can’t people see that they are being rounded up and inch by inch corralled into the confines of a world of madness – wear this, drive this, watch this and on with it.’

‘I'm fed up dealing with all these idiots,’ Taras belted out, ‘a hermit…I plan to become a hermit…of a sort.’

‘You love to call stupid people or people doing stupid things “idiots”,’ sniped back Irene, ‘the Greek word "idiot" originally referred to someone living alone…they assumed that anyone wanting to be isolated from a community was mentally ill or deviant. Historically many societies saw these peoples as misfits and often accused them of being witches or into evil sorcery. Back then a person’s survival relied on being part of the community…how else would you feed and protect yourself…find a mate and have children to take care of you in your old age – you couldn’t survive alone by their definition of living…therefore if you lived alone you were called an idiot.’

‘Ha, and you want to live alone...does that make you an idiot...irony of ironies,’ Irene laughed and added, ‘what do you think of those apples.’

Taras was about to pipe up, but Irene quickly carried on expressing her insights.

‘But seriously, as the centuries passed the notion of solitude and living a cloistered life came to be approved as expressions of self-sacrifice and dedication to God. This was the basis of the Hermit as the ninth Tarot card,’ said Irene, ‘it shows an old man, a Hermit, carrying a staff in one hand and a lit lantern in the other standing on a mountain top. In the background is a vast wasteland.’

‘Mountains symbolise personal growth and triumph. The wasteland represents the disillusionment we all must struggle with. The Hermit has come close to attaining enlightenment and is on a journey of his own to achieve ultimate awareness. The star in the lantern is a six-pointed star. It is the Seal of Solomon, a symbol of wisdom.’

‘Has your nephew lived up to his name yet,’ interjected Taras with a chuckle.

‘Very funny,’ replied Irene. Solomon was oblivious to their entire conversation.

‘Let me finish,’ insisted Irene, ‘the staff signifies the authority and sage knowledge attained by the Hermit and it is also his tool, supporting his onward quest up the mountain of learning.’

Irene chuckled, ‘I think you’ll like this,’ she said, ‘the Hermit wears a grey cloak of invisibility. It tells us that his knowledge and insight is to be shared with only a select few…those who are worthy in their pursuit of wisdom and awareness…and just like the Hermit are willing to journey alone to the heights of atonement and awakening.’

‘Sometimes I know you project this unassuming persona and would let people stumble over mishaps due to their stupidity or short-sightedness rather than speak up and point them in the right direction – I’ve seen you do it.’

Irene looked deadly serious.

‘Taras, you are in a phase of introspection,’ exclaimed Irene, ‘society has given you all you can milk it for…and yet for all your wisdom and all your rich and in-depth experiences over the last sixty years…life still puzzles you …I know the outside world can give you no more insight…you now need to look inward and dive deep into your soul for answers.’

‘Don’t you get it,’ blurted out Irene, ‘I hope I’m not sounding like a broken record, but this is important…the truth you seek is within yourself. You will gain no more at this point in life from others, including me, your other friends or family – all the commotions of the day to day society are annoying distractions to you now. The time is ripe for you take a step out of our world of reason and explore and contemplate your motivations, personal principles and values.’

‘You know I’m not a big fan of your astrological and other mystical insights,’ Taras retorted, ‘but, everything you said makes perfect sense – I hear you Sister.’

‘I’ll take that as a round-about compliment,’ replied Irene, ‘so find some solitude and question the status quo. I think this world has discouraged you…every decade people seem to become shallower and less compassionate…I find it discouraging too…I hope you realize there is always a deeper meaning to find in life no matter how much you unearth, every treasure or disappointment you uncover should serve as a lesson on your way or another gem that inspires you onward.’

‘I would say that I’ve completed my journey in this so called civilized society – the incident on the subway with that poor tormented man drove it home to me - it is time for me to withdraw,’ replied Taras, ‘I intend to set out on a journey away from this world. I need to leave Toronto - I’ve grown to disdain it so much. I want to venture off into a world without clutter - a simple life…and if I can’t find that I’ll just dig deeper into myself until I can shut out all the useless noise and racket of this nonsensical world.’

‘You should take a page out of Joseph Campbell’s writing on this topic,’ implored Irene, ‘be a cultural hero and come back from this mysterious journey with answers to the problems of Humanity – come back and share your knowledge and enlightened thoughts with others – spread the word and make a better world.’

‘The world didn’t listen to me as a social planner,’ replied Taras, ‘why would anyone listen to a recluse whose confesses upon his return from Shangri-La to have a few solutions to improve the world?’

‘Nope, the world is going to Hell in a hand basket,’ concluded Taras.

‘So how will you escape this world of reason,’ Irene implored.

‘I planned ahead for this day – last summer I bought a modest beach house on secluded stretch of beach outside of La Paz, Mexico…on the West Shore of the Southern Baja,’ replied Taras, ‘a perfect oasis from the maddening world of a fast over indulgent and pleasure plundering culture – controlled by artificial intelligent life forms.’

Irene laughed.

‘Well, I take off on January 3rd,’ said Taras, ‘Let me get settled in and then you should come and visit – say around mid-January.’

‘I’ll check the airfares and let you know when I can come,’ replied Irene.

  *************************************************************

Taras slipped comfortably into a routine of waking up at 8 a.m., having a coffee and a couple slices of toast, then going on the Internet and looking up a few news items and taking care of e-mails to the few friends he stayed in touch with – like Irene. Then at around 10 a.m. he’d go to the beach with his book. His choice spot was over several sand dunes just out of sight from his house with a spectacular view of the ocean. He left a lounge chair permanently parked there out of reach of the high tides. It was the perfect set up. The beach was sandy, but the shore leading into the ocean was steep and dangerous – this would never be a destination for tourists. Tourists gravitated to the protected and gentle coves on the other side of the Baja - the East coast. 

Taras had his scared place of solitude. This was the life, he thought.

He was retired from a lifelong job working with the City of Toronto as a community planner. Now he had a sufficient pension to more than cover his modest costs of living. He was a half an hour to Todos Santos, the closest village and from there an hour to La Paz - the capital of Southern Baja. He was secluded but not totally isolated from the world, besides at times he liked hanging out with the locals - they were cool and laid back, in his mind.

Taras had been at his get-away for a week now. He was not a big fan of winter, even though he was Canadian. In his later years he was convinced that winter accelerated one’s demise into the pitfalls and failing health of old age. The sun and warm weather was easier on the bones…and the mind.

The sun was shining bright, not a cloud was in the sky – a typical day for this time of year. Taras was warned by the locals to avoid swimming in the ocean outside his house because of the strong tides, large pounding waves and steep shoreline. They said many tourists have been swept away by the ocean over the years around the area. Swimming was his favourite exercise and he was a good and strong swimmer. This day was extremely hot and the water looked inviting – the waves weren’t that big. He decided to go for a swim. He went to the edge of the sand where it sloped down to the breaking waves – it was no more of an incline than the driveway to his underground parking at his condo in Toronto – no big deal he thought. 

Taras walked down the slope and dove into an oncoming wave. The water was invigorating and his entire body tingled. He went out about the length of an Olympic pool. The swim was effortless. He started to swim back…it wasn’t so effortless.  He had to put all his strength into each stroke to keep his forward momentum. He was halfway back to shore. He looked to the deserted shoreline…he could clearly see his lounge chair but it seemed to be slipping away out of focus as the currents quickly took him back out to sea. Taras was starting to feel the gravity of his challenge. He tried to swim in traversing patterns to weave his way back to shore…attempting to minimize the drag and push of the currents. It didn’t work. He was still a long way off shore. He was exhausted. He had to make a choice to use all his energy in one last attempt to get to shore or conserve it and just stay afloat and go with the currents hoping to be rescued by a fishing boat or a change in the tide's direction. He decided to put all his strength into one last attempt to reach the shore.

He made good progress. He was about twenty feet from shore – things were looking good. His arms and legs screamed out in pain. His strength was almost depleted. Keep swimming, don’t stop he repeatedly said. A huge wave picked him and rode over him. It slammed down on the shore, the backwash of the wave dragged him out about twenty feet. He swallowed some water and was choking and struggling to regain his breath. He began to sink below the surface. This is it he thought.

A strange current out of nowhere began to push him back to the surface. Taras broke free above the water and took a deep breath. He could feel something hard pushing him toward the shore. It wasn’t the current. It was solid and had form…was it the hand of God, Taras thought. Suddenly and with a big jolt Taras was flung into the air and on to the beach. He quickly mustered up his remaining strength and crawled out of the reach of the surf.

‘Are you alright,’ Taras heard as he was still face down in the sand. Whoever it was spoke like they were half singing - a song in the pitch of a tenor…a very warm and reassuring voice.

Taras regained his strength. He jumped to his feet and saw no one on shore.

‘I’m behind you in the water,’ said the voice.

Taras turned around. He yelped and fell backwards. On all fours, on his back he began to scramble like a crab away from the water.

‘Hey, I just saved your life…show a little courtesy.’

‘What the Hell are you,’ Taras said in shock.

‘Are you blind…a ten year-old child would know what I am.’

Halfway out of the water resting on the sloping beach was an Orca…a Killer Whale.

Taras stopped. He regained some composure.

‘A Killer Whale,’ exclaimed Taras.

‘I prefer Orca…Killer Whale sound too ominous…I’m just a big dolphin after all.’

The Orca was moving its jaw as it spoke, but the sound seemed to issue out of its nasal passages on the crown of its head.

‘You pushed me to shore,’ asked Taras.

‘I saw you…or I should say heard you were in trouble,’ replied the Orca, ‘I hope I didn’t hurt you as I threw you out of the water.’

‘No, no…not…not at all,’ Taras stuttered, ‘I was drowning…you saved my life.’

‘I find that near death experiences are almost enlightening as re-births,’ replied the Orca, ‘I’m sure you will value life more than you did before.’

‘Funny you should say that,’ said Taras, ‘I’m very discouraged with life…not my life…but life in general…with the Human Race.’

‘Oh, don’t get me started,’ replied the Orca followed by a spout of water that shot out through his blowhole.

‘Each breath for me is a conscious act…it's not an automatic reflex like for you humans...it makes me more appreciative of the elements that sustain me.’

‘I once was a human…a long time ago,’ recalled the Orca, ‘I really have to reach deep inside to remember.’

‘It wasn’t the most enlightened state of being,’ stated the Orca, ‘as I recall humans had a bad tendency of making simple things complex...why does there have to be so many different types, scents, sizes, shapes, and features of underarm deodorant alone...crazy in many ways...isn't it.’

'Oh yes, humans also oversimplify complex things to the point of delusion and misunderstanding,' added the Orca, ‘in my day officials would explain a complex issue such as poverty by referring to the “lazy poor in the ghettos” or disparity in the wealth of nations by referring to the “savages in foreign lands.” They turned almost every complex social issue requiring serious attention and major change into an equation tailored to grade school kids.’

‘I’ve seen your water, air and land pollution,' concluded the Orca, ‘but, your worst pollution is words bellowing out of leaders like smokestacks that spread lies and misinformation...making people think certain paths in life are simple and justifiable when in truth these paths are problematic and lead to an unworthy end.’

‘People have gotten worse since you would have been one,’ remarked Taras, ‘everyone is intolerant and the level of rudeness and selfishness has created a race of self-serving zealots of the material life - civilization isn't so civil anymore.’

‘This I know,’ replied the Orca, ‘I only understood the true essence of Spirit when I shed my human shell and became an Orca.’

‘Strange though,’ continued the Orca, ‘my older friends in the pod tell me humans started off as custodians of Spirit…rich in the meta-physical and dream realms of existence…and as they evolved they lost their focus as they began to see form and matter as the primary elements in the Universe...obsessed with material things - anchored in the concrete instead of soaring in the abstract.’

‘Spirit becomes a vague concept and even gets lost in a world dominated by materialism. Your world has become dominated by a concrete and rational analysis of the visible or measurable elements…miracles ceased to exist and magic is no longer practiced…it’s the stuff of kids…make-believe…no one believes in the unexplainable…only a very few make conceptual leaps anymore.’

‘Part of the problem as I see it,’ said the Orca, ‘is that your society today has forgotten or eclipsed or out grown the wisdom of  ancient times – they see the way of the past as being somehow irrelevant and superstition. There were many antiquated views like the world was flat and hurtful views like slavery or burning witches, but in rejecting the negatives they also purged much of the positives like the power of a lucky charm or feminine reasoning or energy medicine or tribal dance - they threw the baby out with the bathwater.’

‘There is an irony here that I find fascinating,’ remarked the Orca.

‘The fall of the Human Race,’ suggested Taras.

‘No…although species come and go in this world,’ replied the Orca, ‘contemporary people have whole heartedly embraced solid and tangible tenets of science and technology as the driving truths behind existence and have discard the canons of alchemy, mysticism and spirit…this, at a time when the pace of the world is moving so quickly it is beyond the scope of their five senses to fully understand it.’

‘This is a time when you have to reinvent your ways of processing - totally change your circuitry and turn on your imagination and tap the spiritual elements to understand life…there has to be a new balance between your primal and intellectual instincts.’

‘I don’t know if I follow your logic on this,’ replied Taras.

‘Logic,’ laughed the Orca, ‘the Orca language can’t even be classified a language by your worldly definition. We communicate on a multi-dimensional basis…it incorporates symbols, songs, dance and vibrations to mention a few…it is not based on logical paths…it is more a tapestry of visions and sensations.  I know in the past that native people would conjure up these insights by inviting a spirit animal into their bodies to guide them on a personal soul searching journey or collectively in a community ritual such as a tribal spirit dance to find harmony and direction within the tribe.’

‘I used to be a master of words as a human, but as you can see I’m losing my command of it,’ continued the Orca, ‘it is hard for me to find the language to explain how to seek Spirit, make sense out of it and apply it to your practical day to day lives. I can tell you that your old language rooted in folklore and fables that underpin ancient world views, philosophies and religions work better to express the notion of spirit than your present day babble.’

‘So, I will provide you with a concrete example,’ said the Orca, ‘imagine back to the day when you’d be on a train with a top speed of 60 kilometres an hour. You look out the window and see the country side passing by. You enjoy observing the quaint country homes and red barns as you reach the hinterlands of the city. Next the beautiful oak and pine trees stand out for you as the train meanders through the woodlands. You could observe and study your surroundings…make sense of it.’

‘That is what the world was like in the past…advancements and changes occurred at a slow pace…a pace your senses could process. You had time to take in the new inventions in communications, buildings, transportation, technology and so on…there was no shock value to the evolving shifts in reality. You could look out the window and take it all in.’

‘Fast forward to the present,’ said the Orca, ‘you're on a train traveling at 250 kilometres an hour. The farm houses, the trees…everything is a blur as you gaze outside the window.  You can’t make sense of it. That is where your world is at…you have made both fantastic and diabolical developments in your world…the pace of change is both riveting and overpowering, and most of you can’t even phantom or grasp the forces behind these changes. That is why people should revert back to using their intuition, abstract and mystical tools of understanding – embrace the spiritual world – and then you could look out the window and do an abstract rendering of the way things are. Instead, most of you have no lens to see the world through and assess it – it leaves you aimless and rudderless, leading you on a fool’s path.’

‘Trust your voodoo,’ remarked Taras.

The Orca looked confused.

‘It’s slang for relying on your gut instincts over logic or the world of common sense,’ added Taras.

‘Yes, trust your inner voice,’ said the Orca. 

‘The scientists whom developed nuclear fusion should have trusted their inner voice or voodoo,’ added the Orca, ‘giving over their research and findings to bureaucrats and politicians was like handing a stick of dynamite and matches to pack of five year old kids.’

‘Are your saying nuclear fusion is a bad thing,’ asked Taras.

‘No…not at all, but unlike the slow moving train of the past…that fast train everyone is on results in devastating disasters if it derails or hits another train head-on…what I’m saying is that a powerful tool like nuclear fusion came into the hands of Humans too early in their development. Building weapons that could destroy a city or even the entire Earth and investing in enormous large scale nuclear weapons and energy plants jeopardize your future…Humans were lucky they didn’t end things back in the 50’s and 60’s.’

‘I guess we’ve learnt a few lessons since then,’ said Taras, ‘we’re tapping nuclear energy on a more reasonable scale and we’re beginning to tap the potential of renewable energy sources…at least now if an accident happens a city won’t be destroyed.’

‘And I hope they will be able to stop accidently spilling oil into the ocean as they drill for it or ship it around the world…your scientist have no idea how much these spills hurt marine life...our eco-system is super linked,’ replied the Orca, ‘but there’s hope as you Humans stumble toward the future.’

A huge wave came crashing in, splashing over the Orca.

'That's my cue,' said the Orca, 'I must rejoin my pod.'

‘My name is Taras…what’s your name,’ asked Taras.

‘Willy,’ replied the Orca.

‘Willy,’ repeated Taras - sounding perplexed, ‘Free Willy?’

‘I’m just pulling your flipper,’ replied the Orca, ‘my name is Joshua.’

‘Thank you for saving my life Joshua,’ said Taras, ‘can we speak again?’

‘I could meet you here tomorrow at the same time,’ replied Joshua, ‘but soon my pod swims onward to new shores.’

‘I’ll see you here tomorrow,’ said Taras.

Another giant wave crashed on shore and Joshua gracefully slipped back into the water and disappeared into the depths of the Ocean.

  ************************************************************

That evening Taras settled in at his desk and computer. He tuned in his favourite Internet radio station...a song started playing on the speakers...

As I walk through

This wicked world

Searchin' for light in the darkness of insanity.

I ask myself

Is all hope lost?

Is there only pain and hatred, and misery?

And each time I feel like this inside,

There's one thing I wanna know:

What's so funny 'bout peace love & understanding?

And as I walked on

Through troubled times

My spirit gets so downhearted sometimes…

'I love this song,' Taras said out loud and started singing along with the rest of the song. It gave him the chills each time he belted out, 'what's so funny 'bout peace love and understanding.'

Taras Googled everything there was to know about Orcas that evening. It was a very mystical and spiritual animal – sacred to every ocean dwelling culture. Shaman and other tribe members of great deed and stature were deemed to be fortunate should their next life be that of an Orca.

On another note…Taras was curious…he found out that although the Orca was an apex predator there was not one recorded incident throughout history of a wild Orca attacking a person.

All these facts about Orcas were fascinating.

There was an e-mail from Irene. She found a cheap flight and would be arriving on Wednesday, January 15. Ah, the night of the full moon – the Spirit Moon, thought Taras. He was glad she was coming…she’d arrive in two days.

He sent her a reply. He would arrange for a taxi to pick her up and bring her to his place. He felt like telling her about Joshua, but felt it was too unbelievable – she’d have to meet Joshua in person. The taxi would have her to his place around noon. He instructed her to walk the path down to his spot on the beach. He’d be waiting for her – he could hardly wait for her to meet Joshua.

 *************************************************************

The next day Taras followed his regular routine. At noon Joshua appeared. He heaved half way up on to the beach.

‘How’s my little human buddy,’ said Joshua.

‘I’m fine…how are you,’ replied Taras.

‘I had a run in with some Mexican fishermen,’ said Joshua, ‘Hope, one of our young calves got tangled in their fishing nets…they dragged her alongside the boat. They’re supposed to leave us alone and free us when tangled in their nets. They pulled Hope on deck. They hacked her fins off with large knives. I could hear Hope’s cries and feel the piercing disturbance in the sonic harmony…after they mutilated her they threw her back in the water. She began to slowly sink.’

‘I and five others swam beneath Hope and carried her off to one of our sacred coves. She was in horrific agony. We did not take her to the surface for a breath of air…it was best that she suffocate and quickly pass through the pain. She did find comfort in us being there for her. In death all she could say as her last words was, ‘why are there bad people in the world…forgive them as they are barbaric and do not know any better.’

'You know,' said Joshua, 'revenge is not in the Orca vocabulary...as a human...I remember carrying a grudge, the only person it weighted down was me...so I let it go.'

‘Still what the fishermen did was terrible,’ said Taras, ‘I’ll report them to the authorities.’

‘If you think that will help,’ replied Joshua in despair, ‘go ahead.’

‘Given what you just witness, do you really think there’s any hope that people will evolve and transform into something better and more harmonious than they are today - it just seems to be getting worse,’ asked Taras.

‘There is the evolution and transformation of the individual,’ explained Joshua, ‘I can talk to that. The transformation of an entire species is a more difficult matter to deal with, but it can happen at that level.’

‘Take the individual...take me for example…I once was a human,’ said Joshua, ‘and I went through a transformation to become an Orca…as a human I lived on the cusp of the 20th Century and witness the gradual widening gap between the world of reason and logic and the world of mysticism and religion, yet at that time we were still on that slow moving train – changes still trickled into our lives. There was much excitement about the promises and prosperity of modernization – a sense that wars and famine would be conquered and eternal peace and happiness laid ahead. I was raised as a Christian by a family of modest means– many of us were naïve and did not see through the mask of people Hell bent to harness modern technologies for self-gain and profit or to exploit and enslave others.’

‘I was born in Nova Scotia…I left as a teenager and lived and sailed all over the world until I settled in Martha's Vineyard, in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts. I loved the sea. Through my travels and mixing with other peoples I learnt about different religions and philosophies…among other things I learnt about reincarnation and other cultures’ beliefs in spirit animals and transformations of people into the spirit realm.’

‘Between Mother Nature and the countless communities of friends that graced my doorstep the landscape beyond the corridor of my humble existence expanded exponentially for the better until finally my transformation.’

‘Every child knows that butterflies come from caterpillars. It really is a miraculous transformation beyond the full understanding of scientists. It surpasses the marvel of a tadpole’s journey from fish like creature to frog in that unlike the tadpole the caterpillar is totally lost to oblivion in the transformation. We know and see that the tadpole moves through a series of stages as it develops into a frog…the recognizable tadpole starts to grow appendages and crawls out of the water onto a lily pad and so on. But, if you cut open a cocoon you will see that the caterpillar no longer exits – it has dissolved.  There is no semblance of a caterpillar…there is no facsimile of that previous creature growing wings and changing colour. The essence and substance of the caterpillar is totally gone.’

‘I have come to believe that to grow as individuals at some point in time we must transform. We must leave our bodies behind like the butterfly…our former selves dissolve into dust…and something new emerges from the essence of spirit that we had embodied and set in motion. The rubble of the old skin and bones has no bearing to our next stage in life…it is not relevant to understanding the transformation. A new spark ignites, allowing for a complete rebuild of the energy and purpose of a new existence…a new spirit suited to a new journey.’

‘I can’t tell you why a caterpillar becomes a butterfly…I can’t tell you why I became an Orca.’

‘Can you tell me what brings about the change and how,’ asked Taras.

‘Yes,’ replied Joshua,

‘Now this is important,’ Joshua stressed, ‘The only reason I was permitted to transform and become an Orca was because I had soul…and this means I had evolved as an individual to a point in life where I had my act together – I’m trying to use your language here and it’s difficult – let me put it this way, I had embraced life and learnt my lessons as much as I could…I was a good man, knowledgeable and with a caring heart…I stayed compassionate and optimistic even though I could see the ugly side of life – I choose to rise above being cynical.’

‘My story goes this way. Like you I was on one of my solo journeys when I met an Orca that decided it could talk to me. I was out at sea on my sail boat. After a few days of great discussions - we talked about everything under the sun…I asked if I could join his pod…he said I could…I stripped off my clothing, dived into the salty water and swam alongside of him away from my boat out to the ocean…within minutes I had transformed…I felt air rushing through a new set of lungs, I felt lighter and more nimble even though in mass I had increased ten times in size and weight. And then all these other new sensations began to wake in me…I could hear a sonic symphony of voices singing hundreds of miles in all directions…I felt electrons with encoded messages and the presence of all my surroundings such as rocks and life forms instantly were defined as images in my brain, vividly knowing their shapes and appearances without seeing them…it was more powerful and stunning than sight. It is awesome - it's was a level of awareness I could have never imagined.’

Joshua paused and then said, ‘I didn’t know what would happen as I left and abandoned my boat, but I took a leap of faith…I didn’t need to run this decision through any logic mill. I’m sure it was something like becoming a butterfly from a caterpillar - without questioning the essence of processes and things…I believed in what laid ahead…I had faith in miracles.’

‘That’s amazing,’ said Taras.

‘How do you think human society will evolve and someday transform,’ asked Taras.

‘I said that was a trickier question to answer,’ replied Joshua.

‘Well...your species did evolve from the ape...much like the tadpole developed into the frog. There is no doubt that society will transform and for the better,' Joshua exclaimed. 'Will it transform like the butterfly? It will always take longer than an individual’s journey. I am confident that as society embraces the true meaning of “Spirit” as its guiding principle and star…some kind of transformation will take place…will all humans turn into white beams of light...I don't know...but it will be miraculous.'

Joshua paused until locking eyes with Taras.  He continued, 'I should point out the difference between acting naturally or spiritually. Many good people are concerned about the devastation caused by Human Kind. In good conscious they say that polluting the Earth is unnatural.  I have observed that all lower life forms pollute and destroy their habitats. The first thriving creations were anaerobic organisms that polluted the atmosphere with oxygen to the point that they no longer thrived. Instead, oxygen dependent creatures began to evolve and thrive. So you see in the course of evolution of all species it is natural for thriving creatures to destroy the habitat they depend upon. The more  a species thrives the more likely they are to destroy their world - this is only natural. It is the Spiritual side of an evolved creature that allows it to act beyond its biological nature and pursue a life path that is in harmony with Earth and all living and physical entities that share this life journey. Evolved creatures account for the inner and outer balance of the world they help forge...if not the species is doomed and the world goes to Hell in a hand basket.'

'I believe some signs of the advent of transformation will be when humans no longer require laws and a justice system, when compassion is second nature, when good deeds require no encouragement or accolades, when happiness is a conscious act, when being entertained is localized and from within, when anger is contained and harnessed for creativity, when the meaning of power is synonymous with motherhood, love and caring for all things under the sun, and when hate is a bygone concept. We must keep the faith and believe…we just have to wait and see…we’ll find out someday.’

‘Well, after yesterday and today…I do believe there is a chance that the Human race and all creatures under the sun will walk into the light someday,’ replied Taras.

‘I must get back to the pod,’ said Joshua.

‘Can we talk tomorrow,’ implored Taras.

‘I can come and say goodbye,’ replied Joshua, ‘for only a short discussion…the pod is preparing to swim south…a long swim to new shores.’

‘I’ll see you tomorrow at noon, then,’ said Taras.

‘Make it mid-morning,’ replied Joshua.

‘Alright…see you tomorrow,’ said Taras.

 *************************************************************

Irene’s flight arrived on time. The taxi driver dropped her off at Taras’ beach house at noon sharp. She dropped off her bags in the guestroom and changed into her beachwear. There was a map on the kitchen counter. It resembled a kid’s treasure map…a crude drawing outlining the path from the beach house through the dunes to Taras' private beach.

Irene headed out the door. She really didn’t need the map. The path was clearly beaten down and led the way through the dunes. She found Taras’ lounge chair…it was clearly his private perch. Beside the lounge chair was a small side table with an empty coffee mug. It was a novelty mug with a picture of Taras on it and the phrase, “Life’s a Beach.”

Taras must be at the water, thought Irene. She made her way to the surf…fifty feet or so. She saw Taras’ novel, swim trunks and his eyeglasses on a towel just at the edge of the sloping sandbanks to the water. She scanned up and down the banks of the shore and out to the ocean. Taras was nowhere.

Suddenly a huge wave came crashing up twice as high as the regular waves…almost to the top of the embankment where Irene stood. The surf sent up a bellowing spray of white foam. Irene was engulfed in it and momentarily blinded by the salt water in her eyes. As the white foam subsided and her eyes focused she screamed and jumped back. A giant Orca was lying on the slope in front of her. It was half out of the water. My God, she thought, had I been any closer to the water this thing could have snagged me for its lunch. The Orca opened and shut its mouth a few times making a pleasing low pitched clicking sound. Its eyes looked deeply into her eyes, it seemed to smile, she thought. Another huge wave came crashing in and the Orca slide back into the sea and swam away.

Irene ran back to the beach house and called the police.

Within a half-hour the police were at the beach house. One of them spoke English. He told Irene it was likely a wave dragged Taras into the ocean and he drowned. She told them about the incident with the Orca. He said Orcas normally don’t attack people. One of the other constables said something in Spanish.

‘What did he say,’ asked Irene

‘He’s superstitious...he said it was reported that a local fishing boat netted and butchered a young Orca calf,’ replied the constable, ‘he thinks it could be that the rest of the Orcas were enraged and would attacked a human for that reason.’

‘We will notify the Coast Guard, but there is little hope for him,’ concluded the constable.

After the police left Irene gathered up Taras’ belongs from the beach. She picked up the novel he was reading. It was the Sea of Death by Jorge Amado. Ironic she thought. Irene had bought Taras the book for his trip. A pen and a slip of paper fell out of it on to the towel. It was a regular size note pad paper folded in half. Irene unfolded it. It was a note addressed to her from Taras. It was hand written. It was hasty penmanship – Taras must have been in a rush Irene thought. It read:

Irene, if you’re reading this note I have regained my faith in life and I have transformed…sounds crazy eh, but that’s the beauty of our individual destinies…it can take us anywhere…beyond our wildest dreams I discovered.

I can tell you this dear friend…life is never ending if you put all your energy into positive ambitions and endeavours you will be launching a wondrous adventure.

You are so utterly pure and uplifting in your ways. I can only guess what miraculous changes lay ahead of you. I’ve seen you grow and develop with awe inspiring harmony and symmetry. Each chapter of your life concluded with grace and beauty – as is the case with most novels…your final chapter will be astounding…a unique and magical transformation.

I believe we’ll reunite again someday on the path of life.

Love Eternal, Taras