...A year passed. Gableplunk divided his life between the city and country. In the early autumn he returned to the valley for the harvests and shared wines with the old man. The warmth of the sun faded and cold winds from the north swept the countryside. Free of the distractions of the city he had time to think.
...He returned from a brisk walk along the valley road and was resting on the veranda. The sky was turning gray and cumulus clouds billowed before the darkening background. Trees had lost most of their leaves. Branches swirled before the lively wind. Gableplunk watched from an old bamboo chair. He began to understand that life was simple; only men complicated the natural flow of events; only men sought answers beyond themselves and these were usually answers to foolish questions, questions the deer and the bear didn't ask, answers the fox and the owl found by looking to the stars. Gableplunk found the first glimmer of light within his own heart. The cold wind reddened his skin. Geese, aided by the wind, knifed through the sky in formation.

...Slowing as distance increased, the geese disappeared from sight. Gableplunk sipped wine until his feet were numbed from the cold, then he went inside.

...A week after the first, snow, Gableplunk returned to the city. The nights were quieter. Few ventured into the cold unless on a mission or to dig out their cars after the plow had passed through. Gableplunk wrote and revised his music during these quiet hours. He drew heavy curtains across the windows and slept only with the dawn.
...His dreams began to have unusual emotions, emotions strange and new. Often he recalled one that seemed brighter or more lovely than the rest.
...Gableplunk was a cat. He owned a business that had no customers. It was a shrubbery business. He sold evergreens and other green plants.
...He had a partner who always stood at the rear of the property, watching; he was a shadowy figure, half-cat, half man.
...The land was L-shaped and had a house at both tips. No one ever entered the house at the top.
...Gableplunk had a lover, also a cat. They were very happy together. One day she disappeared. Gableplunk was heartbroken and fell into a state of profound despair. As the observer of the dream, he was puzzled. He never made an attempt to locate her.
...Gableplunk spent twenty years in the garden in back of the house at the top of the L. He tended the plants lovingly but never lost his feelings of despair.
...After twenty years a strange thing happened; each night some of his plants disappeared. He grew alarmed; he didn't know what to do. He began to search his domain and realized it was more extensive than he thought. The additional land also had some plants growing on it. Gableplunk thought he recognized some of the bushes that had disappeared. He felt he had to explore further.
...As he reconnoitered the bottom of the L, he found more and more of his plants. There was a house further on. As he came closer and stood on the border of its back yard, he looked through a window and saw it was filled with the bushes that had disappeared from his garden.
...He walked through the back yard towards the house. As he passed between the back of the house and a small garage, a number of young cats ran in front of him and began to play. He had the surprising knowledge they were his children.
...After brief exploration he entered the house and then a side room. It was a dusty room, an old room with an untended fireplace in one wall. Lying in front of the fireplace, sleeping or unconscious, was his lover. Gableplunk was overwhelmed. He choked up; tears flooded his eyes. He approached her, lay down beside her and put one of his paws over her shoulder. As he completed the motion he was transformed into human form. They lay sleeping for some time. Gableplunk never wanted to move from that spot.
...His lover awoke and Gableplunk sat up beside her. He felt his partner standing in a second shadowy doorway. He didn't move but his presence pervaded the room.
...Gableplunk looked at his lover as she moved towards him. Her feline face moved quickly until it came very near, and he moved his head backwards ever so slightly. Her face transformed into the face of a beautiful young man who came even closer until Gableplunk was aware they were going to kiss. Fear coursed through him, but he was able to use a hidden psychic power to transform the face of the beautiful young man into an even more beautiful young woman.
...The dream ended on a note of surprise, fascination and pleasure in the knowledge she was his daughter.

...Gableplunk visited his friend Vergil. Together they spent evenings drinking and speaking of their newest discoveries or of the women they had yet to meet. Often Gableplunk left Vergil in a stupor at his door. Grinning and feeling silly, they bade each other farewell... "until the next eternity..."
..."I'm afraid you're a bad influence on me," Vergil said. "There's more to life than sensuality. It does us no good to spend our time this way. There's evil in abandoning ourselves to our primal urges."
...Gableplunk slapped his friend's shoulder and mimicked his seriousness, answering, "You're so right, Vergil. Let it be so until the next time," and they both laughed, leaving each other to their separate dreamings.
...When Gableplunk returned to the mountains in mid-winter he thought of his friend. Did he detect an oddness where there was none before? It seemed so. Gableplunk couldn't be sure. If Vergil were having troubles, he'd never withheld his confidence before. Gableplunk couldn't believe his life-long friend would conceal any serious crisis. In a letter from the valley Gableplunk wrote:

Dear Vergil,
...I must relieve a burden I know you'll understand. Please consider suggestions to help resolve my plight. It's this: I'm afraid, afraid of everything. I'm afraid to play my guitar to the best of my ability for fear I'll make a mistake. I'm afraid to get involved in the mainstream of life, something I desperately want. Abstractly, I'm afraid to step into the Void* for fear of the unknown.
...I'm afraid to make a mistake because I believe I'll look like a fool and the hardest feelings to bear are the fears which reveal my lack of understanding, resolution and courage.
...I know the reasons; they're not enough. I'm despairing. I know it'll pass and I'll feel better, yet I won't have done anything to change. I'm afraid to make the decision to confront and fight my fears; they make me run blindly from everything I want. I reach out, touch, and fear overwhelms me.
...Of course the key is making the decision to confront my fears and act to fight the fear that wells up.
...My life is so bitterly disappointing; I must change.
...I'm
......1) in despair over my despair
......2) in love with my torment and won't give it up
......3) desirous of becoming involved in the mainstream of life as a release from my torments and unfulfilled desires in mystical directions. I fear committing myself to that direction. To become involved in the mainstream of life doesn't preclude mystical involvement and vice versa. These are parts of the whole. This battle within me is my personal dualistic struggle which I must overcome.
...My dichotomies, ironically, make me part of the mainstream of life I say I wish to enter. I'm also in fear of the mystical direction hence:
......a) I can't become involved in the mainstream of life,
......b) I don't go in the opposite direction, mysticism,
......c) I accept and cling to my torments and tormented state and
......d) I remain static, self-crucified.
...I feel better having grasped the problem. Is the grasping of the problem merely a form of compensation (as I find so much of life to be), merely a way of momentarily escaping the problem (which it is)? Or is temporarily escaping a solution for the problem (which it is, at least temporarily)? Or is the solution comprised of both (which it must be)? Or does the key lie in the word ‘desire', desire for resolution or overcoming or going-beyond in a psycho-spiritual sense, an abandonment of extremes of ego or self-concern?

...P.S. * Vergil, by the 'Void' I mean the following: the mind is imagination. Because imagination is forming an image of something (phenomenon) in the mind, it's illusion. Sense impressions, ideas or emotions left in the mind by any experience, are illusions. To sit in meditation is to free oneself from contact with and attachment to external objects (phenomena) that disturb the inner nature, to not allow any thought to be caused by external phenomena, to attain the Void- Sunyata, emptiness, the absence of such thought or, since thought arises from self nature, the absence of ego- and to realize the imperturbability of one's original nature. When these concepts are applied to Western Psychology, revealed is the illusion of personality. I know that some of these ideas must seem alien to you however I'm sure you're completely familiar with the concepts of imagination, phenomena, ego and personality. We all have to deal with desire. It's not a great leap between these ideas and the ideas of illusion and meditation. In fact when I get back I'm sure we'll have spirited conversations about the relationships between them. See you soon, old friend.

...The snows had piled high around the house and sides of the barn. Reflections of stars twinkled on crystalline surfaces creating a shimmering illusion that represented his mind. Gableplunk felt insulated and safe, and alone. He liked being alone. His most reflective thinking occurred in this zone. Writing to Vergil of such intimate sensibilities helped him to release some of his feelings. For Gableplunk feelings often transmogrified into new thoughts which offered him a desirable sense of healing, prevented him from veering away from the wheelings and dealings of his ego and kept him centered and on a more even keel.
...He thought,
......Another idea of what or who we think we are is that our individuality, personality and identity is comprised of memories. People can verify this for themselves with some in-depth thinking. Memories are notoriously inaccurate, incomplete and even non-existent for experiences we know we've had. Our memories are illusions, too. Who we are is illusion(s). If this is all we are then we don't really exist. If we're also spirit or soul as many people like to believe, we know of this only through our memories of what we've been told or, if we're a practiced spiritual person, through our intuitive sensations. At the very moment we experience an intuitive sensation we can know something to be true however a fraction of a second later it's a memory. If we continue living in the intuitive sensation, called 'being in the moment,' we can have direct experience of reality. This experience is egoless because it takes time, even if only thousandths of a second, for ego, which is reflective, observational and judgmental, to operate. When we're in this intuitive sensation mode we as individuals, personalities, identities (egos), don't exist because we're egoless, absorptive, non-reflective. So, any way we look at it we don't really exist at all. What we consider to be 'us,' our individuality, our personality, our identity, is illusions. This is the illusion of personality. The old philosophical adage 'I think therefore I am' is completely wrong. So, if we don't really exist why do we take ourselves so seriously? As though we're important. Why do we consider our thoughts and feelings important or meaningful? Because we love our illusions. They make us feel real and whole, at least in the sense that we identify with our cultures and what we've been told is true all our lives. We build our personal stories from our illusions. We also understand unconsciously or intuitively that beyond them is nothing, no-thing, and this puzzles us or makes us (egos) fearful. This creates anxiety, the causes of which we find very difficult to confront. This existential angst, floating anxiety, fear of death, whether physical or spiritual, however, gets our attention and we focus on it seriously as though we can influence its outcomes. We're trying to relieve ourselves of that no-thingness or egoless awareness which ironically offers our only salvation, relief from our concerns and fears. Muddy thinking. Contradictory. Fear based. Closing ourselves to this possibility we're then immersed in ‘Maya', our world of endless cycles of concerns and illusions. By repeated involvement over time, habit, we're addicted and blinded to any possibility of resolution or escape from this cycling. No way out. Even as we're thinking we're cycling. This is our lives. How do we get to the bottom line, the foundation, the base, our ground? Meditation. Meditation is the path to follow for release.
......How do we make personal changes in light of this Illusion of Personality? Gableplunk queried.
......Observing ourselves we notice through self awareness and memory that our identities are capable of monitoring our feelings and behaviors and hopefully directing us to better behaviors and feelings which create better memories which again, hopefully create better feelings and behaviors. So, through our identities, which are illusions, we create more mnemonic illusions but hopefully better ones, more mature ones based on monitored and directed experiences. So, as we observe and direct ourselves, we seem to change. Do we really? Sometimes.
......Are our illusions real? As real as, say, birds or germs? How do they get into us? Are identities, people, necessary for illusions to procreate? Are we inseparable?
...Gableplunk's head ached. Stay with this he urged.
......Ultimately illusions are the products of nervous systems. Without nerves we couldn't feel anything. Feelings are the body's reactions to memories. Without nerves we couldn't have memories. So, illusions are bound to our physical bodies, our biologies, as are our minds, our psychologies. Our minds are memories; our memories are illusions, so, yes, we are inseparable. If ‘I think therefore I am' is incorrect then what might be correct is ‘I SENSE therefore I am.' What is it that senses? Our nervous system. Are we merely our nervous system? Yes. My thinking goes ‘round and ‘round, Gableplunk thought. Maya, the cycle of illusions. When my mind is cycling I'm experiencing an illusion. Meditation is release, at least temporarily. It's our best change.
...Gableplunk tried to make his analysis concrete but it's impossible because of the nature of language which is incomplete, metaphoric and vague. Mathematics would be a better tool for this. Physicists and Mathematicians analyze illusions, too, however, they present their observations in a language that only one out of ten thousand of us can read.
...Continuing his train of thought after a deep breath Gableplunk mused further.
......Our self is a function of our nervous system which imbues us with awareness of our body and memories. As we age we have more memories. This increasing number of memories enables us to refine our sense of who we are. So, self is awareness of our bodies along with increasing memories. This gives us our sense of self which IS our self. Our sense of self IS our self. Our self is a SENSE. Oddly, it's a sense of things which do not exist in a unified fashion. So our selves are in fact unifiers or unifying functions of our nervous systems. Thus our selves present to us an illusion of our selves through which we view and interpret the world.
......I say ‘our selves present to us...' Is there any difference between ‘us' and our ‘selves'? To what elements in us is our ‘self' presenting? Is our ‘self' ‘us'? Are we self-presenting creatures? If so, do we ever see ANYTHING other than what we want to see? We've all heard a variation of the phrase, ‘He was confronted with such and such, something he didn't want to see and he went to pieces.' I suppose that's mostly an exaggeration but we've all been terrified of things like truth or things we didn't want to know. So, is our ‘self' a little game we play, a game of mirrors and hiding? Seekers of essence want to know these things and when they find out the answers to their questions they laugh. They say, "So that's it," abiding, and shake their heads at the irony of it all.
......This is how we spend our lives: filling our minds with even more illusions which we use to deny that fact. So what's real? Nothing. Accept it. Get over the shock. Keep on doing whatever you're doing. Wheel on.
...He thought,
......Is this nihilism, a viewpoint that traditional values and beliefs are unfounded and existence is senseless and useless? No. Nihilism is a belief or a philosophy. This is merely observation of illusions. One might say that one can't make an observation without a viewpoint. Okay. Then my feeling that nothing in my mind is real does NOT imply that existence is senseless or useless. We can make whatever sense of life we wish. This is necessary at the very least to avoid depression let alone nihilism. This is a good reason to HAVE illusions.
...It seemed to Gableplunk that he'd come to the end of his thoughts but he felt a need to ask the obvious question.
......What ISN'T an illusion? The word 'illusion' becomes meaningless if we apply it to everything. Maybe the better question is ‘how can we DIFFERENTIATE between illusions? What illusions are good for us and which ones bad? I suppose that's a matter of personal choice, he shrugged - is choice an illusion, too? Or it's a matter of social conscience: awareness of how our society is constructed and the willingness to make choices about what's best for it.
...An amused, despairing look of irony crossed his face beneath his furrowed brow.
......If everything's illusion, what's the sense to being alive? There is none, other than that which we invent. Whadda ya gonna do? he implored no one in particular. And so in our attempts to make sense out of our lives we invent more illusions like philosophies and religions which become blood soaked traditions and woe to anyone who disagrees or gets in their ways. Maya, the cycle of illusions.
...It's time to quit, he thought, but Gableplunk couldn't stop. Broadening his field of concern to others he considered this:
......Most people have ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA of how deluded they are. The opening up of the mind of the average person to this idea is like a can of worms: repugnant. If they experience even a hint of this, they shut it down and live in denial. And so, this forms the character of Western Man and dooms people to life-long conflict between what they think they understand and what's really true. This is metaphoric blindness.
...Gableplunk had an endless capacity for flogging a dead horse. Jumping back to his original thoughts about individuality and memory he tried to summarize.
......If we had no capability for memory would we be conscious? No. An example of this is children born without brains. Their organs are regulated by their autonomic nervous system but their eyes are fixed, they have no startle response and they don't move or react to any stimuli. We need a brain to have memory. We need memory to be conscious. Consciousness equals awareness. As we sense something, the split-second moment has already passed and for us to be aware of it we must use memory to hold onto it. Active memory is the repeating back of sense impressions, pictures from a psychic camera that also records sounds and captures only the most emotional fragments of a scene. Memory is a fault-ridden function, therefore our awareness is also faulty. This is what we base our lives on and our senses of ourselves: faulty functions. Since thinking is also memory based it, too, is faulty. When we consider the faultiness of memory and awareness we're using our faulty thinking abilities to reflect. Our lives are based around fault-ridden, compounded processes which obscure or distort all that we perceive or sense. Is it any wonder that we're such messes or why our activities are so crazy? The best lesson we can learn from life is to not impose ourselves on anyone or anything else and eliminate the consequences of acting on our illusions and our beliefs. THIS is wisdom. Life's goals must be: separate what's been programmed into us from what's inherent or intrinsic; understand the nature of ideas, their illusions and delusions which can be seductive because they offer us what we desperately want: understanding and assurance; understand our Biology and Psychology. Buddhists would also add, 'Help eliminate suffering.'

...Vergil didn't answer and this was no reason for alarm. He was generally incognito, had no telephone and never answered any communication unless it was in person. Some nights later Gableplunk dreamed again. Vaguely recalling his dream the next day, he couldn't find a reason. It increased his uneasiness and spoiled the beauty and stillness of the fresh snowfall. He packed that night and caught the morning train to the city, yet even the lure of the night life and fascination with its danger and mystery didn't abate his uneasiness.
...Gableplunk reflected on his dreams. Could they be of some use? If only he knew what they meant. If only he could understand these new forces within him, forces that seemed to pull him towards other worlds. His sleep was poor and he began to feel ill for the first time in his life. Was this madness but another, more severe form of separation? Had he discovered another world within which in its incomprehensibility would only add more misery to his life?
...Weeks passed and Gableplunk's strange consciousness continued.
......I roused my first demon today while reflecting upon the state into which I've allowed myself to fall during the last few weeks, a state of lighthearted but profound despair.
......As rapidly as an emotion, a feeling or an idea becomes part of your being, its opposite appears. As soon as they're well-formed, a distant figure is born on the fringe of your mental screen. Coming closer and closer, it takes definite shape, makes motions and sounds. It's a Demon! Reaching you, he sinks his claws deeply into your entrails and tears you apart!
......One way to hold the Demon at bay is to subjectively set aside that initial emotion, feeling or idea, observe it from a distance- ah! distance has a value! - and avoid the frenzied involvement in the ensuing play of its opposite. As the Demon appears, point your finger at it and hold it at a distance across which you may warily watch each other. If I give full reign to each of the opposites, I stagnate.
...The world was still divided. That there existed the possibility for reconciliation Gableplunk grasped instinctually, yet he could only perceive the faintest glimmer of that magical oneness. In dreams the oneness he sensed appeared as magical abstractions, yet abstractions belonged to the world of mathematics; what strange forces empowered the circle and the square to emote healing? What fierce energy caused them to appear emblazoned in fire against the darkness of the dream-universe? Gableplunk's dreams maddened him. The world appeared as cosmic Eros, a fierce light and a blueness against the blindness of space. Each afternoon he woke in a sweat; "What does this mean?" he cried to the empty room; "Roundness is upon me, yet I still live in a world mad with violence! My senses give me no rest with their constant perception of division and antagonism! All the world's at war, has always been at war, will always be at war and my dreams tell me I'm round! I'm absurd!"
...Gableplunk went to Vergil with a song he'd been working on and read him the lyrics.

"The Completion And Recycling Of Yes And No"
("Magic Circle")

...Gableplunk asked Vergil for his opinion and Vergil replied, "It's obscure, oblique."
..."It's obscure because I haven't grasped the meaning within me yet; it's oblique because I've no way of knowing how to approach it."
..."You must be more direct, more to the point with your poems."
..."I'm not interested in its poetic value, Vergil; I've shown you my very existence and told you of my confusion!"
..."In your life you should manifest one principle," Vergil said. "Don't lie wasted in confusion between worldliness and the world of spirit. To live as you do is a great paradox. The world of meaningless sensuality denies the world of the spirit. Sensual pleasures can only lead to regret; only the world of spirit is pure; only a man who lives a single principle may find happiness." Before Gableplunk could speak, Vergil continued, "You're my devil, my friend, my temptation; follow you and I follow chaos, amorphousness; your schism between worldliness and spirit, mind and body, self and world are symptoms of a diabolical nature. We're not fit for each other; we shouldn't see each other any more."
...Vexed, Gableplunk asked, "And have you found the way, Vergil?"
..."The way is the way of resolution. With each new day I hone my edge sharper. With each new day I approach, ever closer, the rational experience of absolute existence."
..."I don't know, Vergil, perhaps you're right. I've always viewed rationality as a form of toilet training. Onesidedness and the adherence to absolutes have created a living hell for people throughout the ages. Now my oldest, my only friend attempts to resolve a crisis in a way that can only lead to futility or greater misery. How many times have you been told by others that one way or another is the only way and how many times has your spirit been fettered by their fastidious ignorance? And now because you're too blind or too weak you enter on the same path, the path of self-righteousness and absolutism. More correctly I call it narrow-mindedness."
..."My friend, you're wrong. Yes, I'm weak, yet in single-mindedness I find strength while you pass your days in confusion and misunderstanding. You spoke of fear and I'm afraid, too, yet I believe I know the way and this gives me courage; for you, all that lies ahead is disillusionment."
...Gableplunk realized that the conversation would become pointless. People must essentially be in underlying agreement before they may disagree. He and Vergil were hopelessly divided. No sharing or further understanding would result.
..."Vergil, I see we're at odds once again. Perhaps we'll understand one another better another time."
..."Perhaps, yet I've doubts. We've always had contradictory natures, though we were able to smooth over our differences. Your form has become antithetical, even antagonistic to mine."
..."I'll leave you to your studies, Vergil, and see you another time." Gableplunk turned and walked to the door. Pausing before closing, he peered into the dimly-lit room and watched his friend lying across the divan. Vergil remained silent.
......Where are his eyes? I can't see his eyes.
...He closed the door and dropped down the steps into the night.
......Where've the old days gone?
...He walked the wet streets. The spring thaw had begun. Gableplunk could see his reflection in dark puddles.
......Where've the days gone when we were free to be as silly as we could be? Did they ever exist or do I create an innocence in my mind? Once, not too long ago, we were free spirits, free to soar as high as our wings would take us and now our wings are shorn; why? It's difficult to live a free life; perhaps some of us aren't meant for it and fool ourselves into thinking so. Instead we choose a life of labor, if it may be said we make that choice, a life of unfulfilled loves and aspirations. We become mortal. Where does it start? Or is the seed existent from the beginning, needing only time to blossom into dark flowers?
......Yet whatever direction our lives take, we'll never, must never forget our free spirits, our ideals. These must live within us, however deeply submerged; without them we're nothing.
...Gableplunk had been humming as he walked. Plucking a harmonica from his pocket, he played haunting forms in a minor key. A complex melody came to mind. Drying his lips so they wouldn't freeze, he sang

"Winged Men"

...Days passed and still Gableplunk dreamed. Strange rituals bearing the signs of primitive initiation ceremonies appeared. Gableplunk was a civilized man. What strange and magical influence caused dancers to appear in mad ballet, speaking in guttural bird song and seeking transcendent union in a ring of fire?
...A boy and a girl stand at the top of a circle before beginning the ritual that ends in fire. The boy starts strutting around the circle while bobbing slowly up and down to the rhythm of his unearthly clucking. Once around in this manner and again at the top. Once again in the same direction, and the girl starts spinning on a spiral towards the center. Once around in this manner and again at the top. And the girl in the Center; a glance at each other and again they begin; he in the same direction and she back from the bowels of the center, traveling on a spiral, spinning, while he dances on the ritual circumference bobbing and clucking both immeasurably faster until they meet at the top and are joined in fire.
...Too often Gableplunk slept poorly. Too many hours were emotionally spent, not enough time given to rest, an hour or two at most each night until he collapsed from exhaustion. Suddenly the dreams stopped, leaving Gableplunk weak. Each dawn he went to sleep in a state of nervous tension, yet each passing day brought further relief; expectations of disturbed sleep abated and soon Gableplunk was back on his feet. He wondered whether dreams as messages from the deep could have bearing upon the grief and madness of his schism or were they merely the dream of a passing ship teasing him in his loneliness?
...Gableplunk went to Vergil. Weeks had passed. Spring had come and bright green shoots appeared in the parks. Branches were tipped with new life and Gableplunk breathed the fresh damp deeply.
...He climbed the steps to Vergil's and knocked. The door opened and a musty odor like dust from a crypt surprised him. Vergil's face was ashen, out of place, a strange juxtaposition of the face of the deep winter and early springtime.
..."How are you, Vergil?" Gableplunk asked. Vergil's reply was silence. He gestured and Gableplunk entered.
...Gableplunk took off his overcoat and lit the stove for coffee. Vergil moved to the other end of the room and stood gazing out the window.
..."It's a fine afternoon, Vergil, a little cold, but good for walking."
..."Why have you come?" Vergil asked.
..."Why, to see you, and to see how you've been."
...Gableplunk approached his friend and sat on a chair.
..."I've been fine," Vergil said. "How've you been?" He turned and walked to the darker end of the room and sat at the table by the brewing coffee.
..."I'm well, though I was ill a week ago."
...An odd silence settled over the room, broken only when the coffee bubbled. Gableplunk walked to the stove.
..."Would you like some coffee, Vergil?"
...Vergil said no, rose and walked to the window. Gableplunk watched as his friend paced the room and asked, "What's ailing you, Vergil?"
..."I asked you not to come again."
..."Why? What've I done? Have I hurt you?"
..."Your very presence hurts me. I can't bear to see you any longer."
..."Why?"
..."You're playing games. Your life is merely a toy you dangle in front of me; I won't have it any longer. Our paths have diverged. Now it's time to part."
..."I don't understand, Vergil. Life isn't meant to be taken entirely seriously; if it is, we twist ourselves with the strain."
..."My reality lies in a different direction. I won't allow you to confuse me any longer. You play on the periphery while I seek the core. It's useless to fool ourselves anymore. I've been telling you for months we musn't see each other any longer and now I must ask you to leave."
..."Leave? Vergil, this is madness. What of our friendship? For fifteen years we've been at odds yet together. We've often defined our friendship by these terms; what's happened to make you feel like this?"
..."We can still be friends," Vergil said, "though we musn't see each other anymore."
...Gableplunk slumped in his chair.
......How can friendship exist at a distance?
...He sipped his coffee until it turned cold. Vergil stood by the window.
......How odd is the silence of death...it's heart breaking.
...He rose and donned his coat.
......Why don't you open the window?
..."Good bye Vergil, telephone if you need me." But Vergil didn't move; only silence answered.
...Gableplunk's face broke into a sweat as the sense of sound returned. With it came anguish. He looked at his friend once more. Vergil turned; his face blurred. Gableplunk closed the door.
...... As an abandoned child I became an abandoned man and now my only friend deserts me. Oh, damn, where'll it end? Why does this madness exist? What've I done to be born into this? Now I'm truly alone.
...The chill of the streets cooled his anger. Tears would make his face itch, so he didn't cry. The first birds of spring cheered him. Which world was real, the empty world of misery and death or the world of bird-songs?
......From death springs new life, but what's new life compared to the old? Is friendship, too, an illusion? Must we live forever in a transitory state? Where can we set our roots if they're so easily torn up? Must our lives be such insubstantial things that friends and lovers and even our very minds pass before us, ethereal visions that evaporate in the blink of an eye? Where's there solid ground to stand on?
...Gableplunk reached home. He found his guitar and began to play. A light melody concealed his heavy heart. He stopped on a discord, unresolved, suspended.
......Where'll I go from here?
...Following his fingers, for they seemed to know, he sang

"Time To Part"

...Gableplunk passed his days in a daze. Life seemed meaningless, yet he didn't despair. Despair came only when he couldn't find a way and Gableplunk was no longer searching. Everything around him seemed useless, devoid of meaning, a moving picture flashing before him merely to fill his time. Gableplunk no longer left his house. Spring might have been summer. He only ate and slept, slowly descending deeper into himself. There was no other place left. The outside world was an illusion filled only with sadness and disappointment. For the first time in his life, keeping his own company was a comfort. What few emotions were left were lightly contained. He sensed a resting ground within, a place he could retire to, leaving everything he was or would be, alone. He was alone. He wanted to be left alone.
...He began to seek it. His first activity in days decreased his motions. Each day brought greater determination. Each day he moved less, only to eat before he resumed his immobile position near the radiator.
...At first only a pinpoint, his ground grew. One day the size of a pea, the next a thimble, a distant silver light approached, slowly transforming until one afternoon it was with him- a beautiful golden sphere at once infused in his mind and body and yet outside him, a soft and lovely palpable body he could touch. He touched it and held it to him. Here was existence, the only existence that hadn't caused him grief. Tears came then dried as he held his golden sphere. Here was his place. Here he'd remain. Here was softness. Here was smoothness. Here was wonder and here was peace. A voice came to him, a golden voice, softly singing, caressing him, rubbing golden oils over his cold skin and healing his wounds.

"Center Of The Universe"

...Gableplunk had no idea how long he'd been sitting. Was it day or night? His legs ached. He was hungry. Only a wonderful vision glowed softly in his heart. A golden ball seemed to be smiling at him. He wondered. Where had he been? He felt so smooth and warm, like a baby. He smiled at the golden ball and it seemed to be waving. Limbless, it danced a bit before fading, leaving only its goldenness and smile for remembrance.
...Ravenous, he creaked to his feet. His back burned where he'd leaned against the steam pipe. He prepared a meal and gorged himself, ending with a bottle of wine and a resounding belch.
......Madness and magic seem to be my fate.
He wondered where it would all end.

...Weeks passed. Spring changed into summer. Gableplunk spent the days in the park or in meditation. His life passed before him. Each event and emotion was scrutinized and cross-referenced. Each ganglion of impressions was unraveled and analyzed. Each day he sought an end to confusion. Some men said that the world was chaos; if so, Gableplunk would understand. Some said that the world was ordered; if so, Gableplunk would understand. He sought a way, a structure he could rest upon, a presence that, if understood, would enable him to gain some small measure of peace and dignity in the face of an alien world.
......Like the Dancer, all the world bobs and weaves before me, holding out the promise of so much but fulfilling so little. Each truth holds a lie. The promise is a deception. As soon as it's born, it dies. The smallest fears are paralyzing; men live in perpetual misunderstanding, images separated from substance and their own uniqueness.
...Gableplunk experienced convolution. No one thing appeared the same. Rejection acknowledged acceptance. Pleasure existed in pain. Fear of loss, fear of gain, both the same. None remained in simple form. Each had separate existence. Each was ephemeral, impossible to grasp. Like shadows dancing in the sun, each appeared to be real.
......How is it I'm haunted? What was once troublesome yet simple to grasp is now a deceitful masque. Like ethereal beasts, spirits and mad dogs lie hidden, sleeping, waiting to leap and tear me apart and I don't see them; I feel only the dread. And so attached am I, I maintain the strain to keep my illusions from crumbling. In turn I'm rewarded with a never-ending cycle of misery and emptiness. This is my own self-imposed psycho-spiritual shell game.
...Hidden though the masque may be, it's the source of our distress and Gableplunk realized that desperate need may also be the impetus for change. Given enough suffering, a man seeks release. He begins to question: 'Is there truth beyond deception? Do I choose a life of illusions rather than the face of reality and my true nature? Is it possible to choose or is the Dance too deeply imbedded? Do I have the power? May I will to see the truth? '
......To be free I must choose to try to be, then act on it. I must try to see honestly into myself and draw back the veils of deception. Blindness is difficult and complicated, yet so, too, is vision; only with labor, only with misery, only with the greatest effort of all, the struggle of seeing into my own heart can I find the way to the moment of truth and become transparent and see the truth of my soul.
...Gableplunk had placed his guitar across his knee. Fastening the strap around his neck, he stood and strode across the room. From his window he could see the park. Daylight was fading. Street lamps cast a sheen on the walks below. Evening stars seemed to be mocking him. Silver shadows crossed the streets, companions to evening strollers.
..."I see you!" Gableplunk cried. "Like fowl in the wind you'll scramble before me!" Loudly, he played and sang

"Is There No Truth Beyond Magic"

...Like silver shadows joined to men's feet, Gableplunk's mind touched ground.
......Are men the mothers or the children of silver images? Is the ground where they meet an umbilical cord sustaining each? How does this speak for division? It's early morning. Today I realize that reality is greater than just seeing through illusion.

...The world warmed. Summer arrived. Gableplunk traveled to the shore. In the evenings after the crowds had left he'd sit atop a dune and gaze out to the ocean. The great depth of blackness calmed him. Silence and the steady roar of the surf emptied him and he felt renewed. The heat of the afternoons baked him and the warmth of the evenings covered him with a light sweat, very pleasant, and a part of Gableplunk was dying.
...It was summer, yet cool breezes streamed through Gableplunk's heart. The grape harvest was near, a time of renewed friendships, a fullness before the leaves fell and winter set in. Gableplunk felt odd, out of place. Although he loved the ocean and communion with the depths, he remembered another time and place, the harvests of the autumn past.
...Growers from surrounding vineyards gathered at the old man's. Wine exhibits were set up on level ground. The afternoons were still warm and the men and women who arrived by train or wagon sipped the wines, swishing and spitting them on the ground. Green wines from the recent harvest were tasted. Lively debates ensued about their future. Growers with successful harvests were jolly, sharing their opinions and knowledge with those who weren't as successful. Gableplunk meandered through the crowd, feeling awkward and self-conscious. Politely he thanked the ones who offered their wine, giving his inexperienced opinion when asked. He excused himself, and once, when he turned, he bumped a man's arm, spilling his wine to the ground.
...A talent exhibition was organized. A poet recited some of his works from a low wooden platform. Singers and an accompanyist played songs. Some of the people in the audience sang along. Pleasantries and good feelings were exchanged. An exhibition of coordination, speed and strength was given by a giant man named Max. Soon afterwards, the same man gave a simultaneous chess exhibition offering to play all who dared oppose him. Gableplunk slid behind one of the tables set up for the matches. People spoke in whispers and formed secretive huddles until one man emerged, having been chosen to play. Others drifted by and stayed to watch, lured by the excitement and challenge in the air. Gableplunk rehearsed opening moves for a time until all the tables were occupied and people had gathered behind the players.
...Max began opposite Gableplunk. Holding a Black and a White piece in his hands, he asked his opponent to choose. If Max won White, he would make the first move immediately; if Black, he would wait only a moment for the other man to move, then step to the next board to choose again when his opponent hesitated. The games progressed swiftly. Max revolved around the loop, stopping before each board for the briefest time to assess the positions and make his move. Gableplunk's game took on its own character. Max's opening and development were swift and strong, his pieces harmoniously balanced. His pawn structure was tight and connected where necessary.
...The opening game lasted only a short time. Gableplunk played a variation of the Sicilian defense. They vied for control of the center. Max played with great strength and delicacy. He forcibly maintained open lines and supported his forward positions with mobile rear pieces. At a crucial moment Max stopped in front of Gableplunk. His massive body cast a great shadow, diverting Gableplunk's attention from the board to the man standing before him.
..."I'm Max," he said, looking directly into Gableplunk's eyes, "and I'm an atheist!"
..."Why?" Gableplunk asked.
..."Because I can move the World!" Max slammed his Queen across board to a King side mid-field position. Favorably positioned behind a Bishop and surrounded by a Knight and a Rook on an open file, he attacked Gableplunk's King side pawn chain. In the melee that followed, Max forced exchange after exchange. He broke Gableplunk's game so forcibly that Gableplunk had to accept an unfavorable Queen exchange. Toward the end-game, his forces decimated and with a hopelessly lost position, he faced White's King side passed Pawn. It could easily be nursed to the eighth rank to promote a Queen. In the lull, Gableplunk assessed the positions thoughtfully and resigned.
...By early evening Max had demolished all his opponents but one. Everyone gathered at the table to watch. They cheered and congratulated both men at the game's end. Max's score: seventeen wins, two draws and no losses. Later, when the evening chilled and the guests moved to the house, Gableplunk was able to speak with Max about their game. Their conversation concluded in an invitation to Max's home to replay Gableplunk's questionable moves.
...Gableplunk felt no desire to remain at the house party. After thanking the old man for his kind invitation, he walked to the barn, saddled his horse and rode home. Instead of taking the direct route, Gableplunk rode to the river. He tied his horse near a tree and climbed a grassy mound.
......What needs have I of division? Like Black and White on a chessboard, turmoil lives within and without, yet both live in the same world. There must and will be an end to schism, a union of opposites created out of Nietzschean transcendence of all values. New words must be born, words that speak of union, words that take their essence from polarized forces and yet have fresh existence. A child must be born.
...A warm evening. Sitting on the dune at the shore, in his mind's eye Gableplunk relived that crimson sun in the valley. The river streamed nearby, gurgling incessantly at the edges. Sitting on the grassy mound, he watched the sun set, cradled by the mountains as it entered the river. The turbulent waters at the west end of the valley sparkled, consumed by a mist turned fiery red.
...At the shore, remembering the valley, Gableplunk plucked his guitar slowly;
......Death is, after all, a warm thing and a time of celebration when the old is replaced by the new, a time for summation when our past experiences flow before us, a time for a final confrontation with ourselves and a kind and thoughtful giving-way to the needs of the future.
...Softly, sweetly Gableplunk sang a song of celebration.

"Sundown"