~Chapter Three~                                                             ROLL OVER MAGELLAN--- "Dreams are true while they last. Can we say any more of   life?" --- Havelock Ellis         I'm trying to figure out how to make all of this a little more interesting.  I'm aware of how a lot of facts and supposition can make for a pretty dull read. Rambling on like a manic squirrel about this junk to my friends is one thing, but trying to capture the spirit of an argument strictly through text is another kettle of serotonin ---  altogether.      "Trying to capture the spirit of an argument strictly     through text is another kettle of serotonin."      Speaking of Airplane, maybe a few flights of fancy are in order.  Something with a little exposition would be better I think...     Our first such flight finds us aboard a sea-faring ship of wood, nearly 500 years in the past.  This was a simpler time, when we had only the wind to navigate us through a growing world.  We had only the stars in the sky to guide us by night, and the sun by day.  This is a hallmark of who we all are at the heart, explorers. But somewhere along the years since those early days, we've lost our spirit.  So place yourself back in 1514, on those wooden decks.  You're surrounded by blue and brine.    You look up and see that you've got some company. The sea birds are at least as curious about your newness in their world, as they are hungry for the morsels you've carried with you from your home shore.  They also remind you that you've barely entered the domain of the seas.  Where there are birds, land can't be far away. Whether you admit it or not, you already find yourself getting a little homesick.     As the months pass, there's nary a bird in sight.  You've heard tell of other lands, and after many months at sea, you pray that you'll find one of them soon. The fresh water's already beginning to taste a bit stale.  But even after these many months, there's still no sign of terra-firma.      This was rapidly becoming the part of the journey where doubts led to fears.  Maybe the prophets and the critics were right after all, you think to yourself. The idea of going on such a historic trip was met with harsh criticism.  The unknown always creates fear, even if you're not directly involved.  Maybe we'll find ourselves soon pitching forward as we do indeed, fall off into oblivion at the world's edge.  Should we turn back now, while there was still time? No, the time for turning back has long passed.    Besides, the captain wouldn't hear of such nonsense, surely he wouldn't.  No one would dare show such weakness before such a devoted and driven man.  Some tested his resolve with innuendo, and hinted at mutiny.  But he gave them no credence, and remained confidant that we should press on.  He assured us too, that it would be well worth it in the end.  There was no fear in his eyes to hint otherwise.  Our confidence bolstered, we trusted his judgment that all would be well.     Secretly, the intrepid explorer's leader was both proud and ashamed of his crewmates.  Proud that they could show such a confidence in the face of such uncertainty, and ashamed that they were so willing to.  So willing they were to, for all he knew, throw away their lives on the chance that one man's words might be true.  In his own heart, the captain too had his doubts.  But he couldn't allow his own self doubt assume complete control over his faculties.  That's how men such as he were honored with such great responsibilities.  Was it courage, or blind ambition that fueled the fire in his belly? It didn't matter, for the world needed proof that there were still more lands to conquer.    The burden of such proof would be an even greater cross to bear.  If only the other men knew of the doubt that was beginning to creep into his mind, so that he'd have another chance to save face, and turn back.  If only one of them would give him that chance again, by speaking up in protest once more.  There was a moment when, only a fleeting one, when he was ready to declare his misgivings.  He was, for that moment, afraid of what might be in store for them.     He was too well insulated, even from himself, to concede to such weakness for long.  Besides, they'd managed to get this far. If for no other reason, it was now a matter of principal.  Then, he was stirred from his revelry, as there came upon them a thunderous roar that sent all eyes skyward.    They took it on faith, or maybe on instinct alone that what they heard was only thunder itself.  But the sky was as pristine as the waters that reflected it, and not a single wisp of cloud could be seen.  Now, not even the captain could hide the fear they all felt, as the thunder became more pronounced in its intensity.  Its unwavering roll belied all that was known in their time, and nothing could explain such a devilish din.    No, it wasn't thunder.  The noise was too loud and too constant.  It was as if something approached them from a blinding sun.  Frantically, the men scanned all about, desperately needing to place an image with what it was they heard.  Some muttered the name of this god or that.  Indeed, they looked for some sort of god or gods that could produce such a bone-jarring barrage.  If it was some god responsible for this assault, he was probably angry at them in their daring, that fools such as they should be so audacious as to circle the globe with the winds they stole from him.     That's when they spotted something off in the distance, a glimmering of reflected sunlight.  It crawled through the sky, directly toward them, finally passing over the tallest mast of their ship.  It was some great bird, fashioned from metal.  As loud as it was when first they heard its approach, the sound that now seemed to split their ears was indescribable.  They instinctively drew themselves tighter, bracing themselves for the death that was sure to follow.  But as soon as it had come, the unearthly apparition vanished, along with the thunder it carried. The strange calm that befell them was framed by the sloshing of the sea against their ship's weary hull.  That's when the men started to speak frantically.  What had just happened?    After much debate, it was decided that they should not speak of this any further, even among themselves.  Should they survive the remainder of the voyage and rejoin their countrymen, silence would be their order of the day.  They knew no one would believe such nonsense in any case, and even tales of mermaids were trite by comparison.  In fact, even as they discussed with great excitement, what had just transpired, they themselves began not to believe what they'd only just experienced.  Only moments ago,  its reality had cast its shadow on their decks, as its size was enough to blot out the sun.     And yet the merest of moments later, it began to feel more like a dream.  It was best that such a thing as this be forgotten, or at least kept to themselves.  This great metallic bird was after all, in severe contradiction to the teaching of the church.  If this thing that had soared over them was some angel from god, it certainly didn't match any of the descriptions given by the saintly men who'd witnessed such beings first hand.      How could they ever hope to contest or to presume upon the testimonies of true men of god? These transformed men knew that if they were to go public with whatever it was  they'd  seen, they'd likely be declared  heretics  By the time the ship reached its destination, most of the crew had made themselves forget what they'd seen.     This tale was, as you might already suspect, a work of fiction.  Magellan, in all likelihood, saw no such vision nearly half a millennium ago.  I was only trying to demonstrate what may have been on the minds of men who had just witnessed a commercial jet aircraft for the first time, in this case, for the first time in human history.    Today, such craft are an easily accepted part of our reality.  They're impressive, to be sure, but few of us today would think of such a marvel as the work of god.  We've come a long way since then, when it took next to forever to traverse the globe.  We now know that the world isn't controlled by a bunch of angry or petty gods.  Now, we've managed to narrow it down to just the one.     Putting sarcasm aside, most of us know a jet when we see one.  But in Magellan's time, such a craft would almost certainly have generated much fear and misunderstanding.  We can believe how an airship might have been confused with the work of god himself.  None of us could have convinced a man like Magellan that there, sitting comfortably in the belly of the immense monster, were ordinary people just like him.  It would be even harder to get him to believe that it would be people from his own future that had designed and built the thunder god.  Take any technology far enough (as has often been suggested), and you might be mistaken for a just such a god.    Talk like this curves the spine of some people, and though we're no longer being burned at the stake for making such brash statements as to suggest that we're capable of becoming god-like, you're at risk of getting the silent treatment nonetheless.  I can't believe how uptight people can still be today.  Everyone's so afraid of offending someone in this age of political correctness (a term which I despised since I first heard it).  People can be all too willing to forsake truth or honesty for fear of stepping on someone's toes.      Politicians among others, have made this sidestepping into an art-form (with really bad taste in art).  They really believe they're able to please all the people all the time.  What they fail to recognize is, no one actually appears to care anymore.  Not many of us respect our leaders, but we keep on hoping and pretending that maybe someday a person will appear who actually gives a damn about us, or the world at large.    Our view as a species is far too limited.  We remain fixed in the quagmire of our old methodologies.  We're no longer a single country against the rest of the lesser world, and there are no more lands in need of conquering. The sooner we start thinking globally, the better off we'll all be.  The ones in control think about a world view, and are terrified by the prospect.  Maybe they think there's no room in a unified world by dividers such as them.      In fairness to the xenophobic fear mongers, a major goal for us should concern how this global view is to be best implemented.  Even if we somehow manage to achieve this new state of reasoning (which we will, as soon as we become aware of how intricately linked everything is), an even more awesome prospect awaits us.  Right now, we regard this precious gift of life we've all been given as nothing but a weak imitation of what is due to us in a place called paradise. But in the better world that waits for us, we can make heaven right here, and right now.    What we should learn how to do is to appreciate what we've been given, and learn to live our lives to their fullest while we're here.  Never mind worrying about some greater reward that may or may not lie in wait for us on "the other side." There is no other side, because this concept is too limited as well.  For the purpose of these writings, there are an infinite number of fates for every conscious being that exists, and all roads are rooted in them.      To some degree, such fates are usually self-made ones.  Our life decisions (and limitations) are based not on reality, but rather on our perceptions of it.  For instance, the hell that we've created for ourselves on this dimensional plane is a self-perpetuated one.  This wasn't done consciously of course.  But our belief that nothing can be done to combat it was.  More often than not, it's inaction that determines a pathway.  Therefore, we live in a self-made reality which was constructed by the collective consciousness that occupies this specific place in time.       We are (or should be) spiritual beings that have chosen (for whatever reasons) a physical experience in order to learn and grow.  For most of us, it's ongoing and eternal I suspect.  The universe itself is firmly entrenched in an unending process of growth, and is far from static.  Maybe that which we would call god is no different in that respect, because even a supreme intelligence must evolve and grow.      Just imagine how boring existence would be, even a supreme one, if this weren't true.  That's what it's all about--- growth.  And the painful truth is, we're not really engaged in the process of growing right now.  We've gotten as stale as the water we used to haul with us on our wooden ships.  We're for the most part, deaf to the urgings of our souls.  We're starving them of the growth that they've chosen to achieve in the here and now. How many of us can honestly say that we've been dedicating our lives to our heart's desires?    Stagnation.  It's a kind of sickness really.  It can be seen in the decay of the world that we've chosen for ourselves to live in.  The time has come for us to go about finding a way to change all that.  That's the overall objective of these writings.  To not only recognize the need for a new outlook, but to set about finding how to initiate such a quest.     Sometimes, during the quiet times, we feel cut off.  We're removed from the rest of the world, and we wish that there was someone we could talk to.  To the more solitary among us, you get used to it over time, but you are a social creature by nature.  How to get back in touch? Who can you talk to who will really listen, really understand?     That's where the inner voice comes in.  To that end, I've become alarmingly aware of how monotonous this monologue has already become, so I've made a choice.  I choose to have a conversation with that part of myself that most of us deny we even have.  In essence, I've chosen for myself a different type of mental illness.  "Hello me, it's gonna be nice talkin' to myself..."     What's the wellspring of this inner voice of ours? Maybe there is in some parallel dimension, another version of ourselves.  That person is privy to those things we can only imagine while stuck here.  Sometimes I imagine that this other version of myself is available to me through my dreams.  Maybe he's the source of this inner voice that beacons to me now.  I wonder what kind of things that other person has to share with me? If there are such parallel selves, I hope they're having a better time of life's struggle than I am.       Apparently, being a manic-depressive isn't good enough, because I've decided to become a schizophrenic as well.  In all honesty, we're all possessed of many personalities.  Everyday, we pretend to be someone we're not.  We put on a different face for every occasion.  We get so good at it, that after a while, we believe ourselves to be whomever we wish . Nothing wrong with that either. For some of us though, over the course of a lifetime, the question surfaces yet again: "Who am I?" You want an answer to this question? You're whoever you believe you are. If you believe you're a product of society, then you've become a victim of that belief.  In that sense, we're all victims of society. We should give serious thought to who we really are, so that we don't give in to what we think society has made us. Just relinquish your hold on your perceived self, and gain access to the actual self.  It resides inwardly, and speaks to you from inside.  It's your inner voice.  It's your conscience.  Your soul has spoken to you time and again, but so far you've ignored it.  How many times have you kicked yourself by saying things like, "I knew I should've taken that right turn," or, " If only I'd done what my gut told me to?" Our entire lives are spent by saying "if only" this or "if only" that.  The soul knows.    I hope my parallel self isn't that smug all the time.  It might make for a pretty rough voyage. At any rate, that's what I'll be doing from here on out, talking to my own inner voice. Superficially this might seem fanciful, but fundamentally, it's out of necessity. I've grown tired of the monologue that's always running through my head. Before continuing with the proposed "dialogue" that's to come, I should first acknowledge a guy named Neale Donald Walsch, and his "Conversation with God" book series.     I must confess to envying his novel approach to creating his own brand of internal dialogue. It was a nifty way for him to escape the monotony of writing hundreds of pages in the first person. I too crave a dialogue, wanting only to escape from my own isolated mind. And what do I decide to do? Talk to myself.     If only I could reach that parallel self.  The one with all the experience in sailing in the astral plane.  The version of me that's learned some of the secrets of the universe. Surely, that better part of myself has the best interest of all his parallel selves in mind.  After all, we're all trying to learn the same lessons.  Wouldn't it be mutually beneficial to share information between the cusps of experience? I for one, am counting on it.     As my sails fill with the promise of a better tomorrow, I can feel my soul begin to stir. Maybe I can make some sort of sense of me. Maybe I'm about to discover my better half. Maybe we can all learn to do it. Alone with my thoughts, I'd be interested to hear what my inner self can do with the likes of someone like me.