Lawrence R. Spencer's Blog, page 429
October 8, 2016
October 7, 2016
WICKED WITCH OF REALITY
Excerpt from THE OZ FACTORS, by Lawrence R. Spencer —
“9/ DOESN’T ANYBODY BELIEVE ME?
” Doesn’t anybody believe me?”–Dorothy
“Of course we believe you, Dorothy…”–Uncle Henry in ‘The Wizard of Oz’
Is reality really real?
As Dorothy discovered when she returned back to Kansas, her friends and family did not agree that the Land of Oz was “reality”.
Conversely, gaining agreement from one’s friends does not guarantee that the information agreed upon is true or workable or survival. Agreement is not necessarily reality. Although Man seems to crave agreement with his fellows, the fact that “everyone agrees that the world is flat” or that “the sun revolves around the Earth”, does not make it a reality.
History has shown that agreements among people have very frequently proven to be disastrous.
Example: Adolph Hitler gained the complete, unabated agreement of the majority of the German population before he led them into total self-destruction.
Lots of people agree when fast food franchise advertisements tell them that cheeseburgers, fries and milk shakes are good for them. We were, and still are, told, based on “medical research” that these foods contain nutrients from all the “four basic food groups”. This doesn’t change the fact that you get fat, develop hardened arteries and die an early death from heart disease or cancer if you keep eating cheeseburgers, fries and shakes.
The unprecedented multi-billion dollar profit margins earned by the beef and dairy industry and sugar growers in cooperation with the fast food restaurant cartels have a heavy influence on “truth in advertising”. In addition, the quality of information we receive, as consumers, from the American Medical Association regarding “the science of nutrition” is directly influenced by fast food commercial interests.
Only one generation ago the Japanese people were nearly free of heart disease and cancer. In just 20 short years, since they have openly adopted the Standard American Diet (SAD)–cheeseburgers/French fries/milk shakes and liquid caffeine-filled sugar water called cola–the incidence of heart disease and cancer among the Japanese people has skyrocketed. The Japanese agreement with Western lifestyles is killing them.
Reality is often heavily influenced by the Oz Factor of agreement. Agreements influence our perception of reality. A child’s perception of his environment, his religious and political ideas and viewpoints about people are often heavily influenced by agreement with his mother and father.
Be cautious with whom you agree. Carefully examine ideas and information before you agree. Just because the preacher says, “sex is evil” or the President says, “I’m not a crook”, does not make it reality.
Be careful about agreeing with Wicked Witches and Wizards who promote unworkable solutions. By your own observation decide what is real in the Physical Universe and in Your Own Universe.
Your reality is based on your agreements.”
_________________________
Originally posted 2012-11-09 22:24:04. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
SHERLOCK HOLMES – MY LIFE, Chapter Four
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CHAPTER FOUR: A CHARMING CHESHIRE CHEESE
“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?”, asked Mr. Dodgson.
“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to”, I replied.
“I don’t much care where…”, said Mr. Dodgson.
‘Then it doesn’t matter which way you go”, said Watson.
“I have solved many obscure and nefarious cases in my career to date. However, the singular complexity of the matter which stands before us now — these accusations and alternative explanations, present features of a most illogical and inexplicable nature”, I said, passing the butter dish across to Mr. Dodgson.
“Prey, do have some butter with your bread “, I suggested, “while I ring for our landlady, Mrs. Hudson, to bring up the main course of our meal”, I said, stepping across to pull upon the bell chord to alert our mistress that we were ready to be served.
Momentarily, Mrs. Hudson appeared at the door, huffing with exertion of having carried a large tray of dishes up the stairs. She set the tray upon the sideboard.
“Will there be anything else you require, gentlemen?”, she asked. “If not, then I will retire for the evening. I’ve had a long day of shopping and preparations and cooking and cleaning already. Just leave the dishes outside the door when you have finished, and I will fetch them in the morning”, she said bowing herself out the door.
“Please leave to door open, Mrs. Hudson, if you would be so kind”, I said as she started to close it behind her.
“That will not be necessary, Mr. Holmes”, said Dodgson. “I feel quite reassured that I am safe with you”.
“Very well then. Good evening to you all then, gentlemen”, she said. She glanced back at me curiously and pushed the door closed, turned and trudged back down the stairs.
The meal was hearty, yet bland, as is the traditional fair for the citizens of London: boiled flesh of some unidentifiable creature, peeled and boiled potatoes with a few carrots, bread, butter, and a pot of tea. Fortunately, I had taken the trouble to supply ourselves with two bottles of red table wine for the occasion, which enlivened the otherwise nondescript flavor of the food.
As we finished eating our meal, and placing the dishes outside the door, as instructed by Mrs. Hudson, I reviewed the peculiar features of our situation with my companions.
“For the sake of securing the status of my identity, and to respond the most singular accusations brought against us by Dr. Doyle, please let me summarize the possible resolutions to this anomaly. Several possible answers may be postulated, as follow:
1. That I am impersonating a fictional character created by Dr. Doyle in his works of fiction, notwithstanding the testimony of Constable Barrett, who one might argue, is himself a fictional character. That being the case, all here present must also be fictional characters, including Dr. Dodgson.
2. That I am a real person, from whom Dr. Doyle, as the author of works of fiction, has copied my name, address, actions and characteristics as a source of inspiration for his stories.
3. That I am a real person, and that the author is an imposter, or a fictional character. Inasmuch as you visited the alleged gentleman yourself upon this very morning, one would assume that he, like ourselves, is not a fictional character.
4. That Dr. Watson and I are both fictional characters, including all of our surroundings, environs, apartment, possessions, bodies, memories, expertise and identities: a hypothesis which seems to have been disproven thus far, unless further evidence presents itself to our attention.
5. That Mr. Dodgson and Dr. Doyle are real characters, including all of their surroundings, environs, apartments, possessions, bodies, memories, expertise and identities, and Dr. Watson and I are both impersonating fictional characters, as discussed.
6. An alternative solution may also be proffered: that each and all of what is supposed to be “real”, whether deemed fact or fiction by the observer, are equally illusions. Therefore, neither comprises a definition of reality or fantasy, accept by the subjective opinion of the observers, creators and / or characters”, I concluded.
I paused momentarily to fill my pipe, and allowed sufficient time for the gravity and details of my proposition to be absorbed by Dr. Watson and our guest. Neither of them had anything further to offer in the argument at the moment. No doubt they were confounded by the apparent absurdity of my arguments. Nonetheless, taking silence as permission to continue, I resumed my deductive analysis.
“I have observed that the lowest and vilest alleys in London do not present a more dreadful record of sin than does the smiling and beautiful countryside”, gentlemen.
“I do not see what you are getting at, Holmes”, said Watson. Mr. Dodgson looked up with equal, but silent, agreement.
“On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in drawing your inferences”, I said, taking a seat in my armchair, and inviting our guest to take a cigar from the box I offered.
“However, before we digress, let me allude to the discussion that Mr. Dodgson and I had when I visited him in is quarters. He himself mentioned several methods of investigation which he has studied in the alchemical works of Sir Isaac Newton, and in his own mathematical application of portmanteau poetry to the development of mathematical thinking.
“Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing. It may seem to point very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own point of view a little, you may find it pointing in an equally uncompromising manner to something entirely different”, I said while crossing over to the sideboard.
I picked up the manuscript that Mr. Dodgson had given me when I visited him entitled, Alice’s Golden Hour. While flipping through the pages to find a particular passage, I asked Mr. Dodgson a question about his work.
“Might I inquire as to the origin of one of the fictional characters whom Alice meets in Wonderland — The Cheshire Cat?”
“Frankly, I believe the idea came to me from an old expression I learned as a child”, replied Mr. Dodgson after momentarily pondering the question. “I believe it to be derived from a cheese which was sold in Cheshire, near my home. The cheese was molded in the shape of a cat. The cheese was cut from the tail end first, so that the last part eaten was the head of the smiling cat”.
“Very well”, I said. “Let us then observe that you have extracted something from the reality of your childhood, and with a liberal application of your creative imagination have used it to conjure an illusion…an alternative to reality, as it were. Is this not so, Mr. Dodgson?”
“Well, yes, I suppose. However, I fail to see what relevance my fictional tales have to our current situation. Certainly you do not suppose that I am to believe that reality can be conjured from a work of fiction? The notion is absurd!”, he replied.
“I do not ask you, or anyone, to believe anything whatsoever. Belief is a matter of personal opinion or conviction which cannot be shared by anyone else, accept to the degree that they share a similar opinion. Some men believe that the world was created by an omnipotent, invisible being in seven days. People in some aboriginal tribes believe that the world is supported on the back of an enormous elephant which stands upon the shell of a colossal tortoise”, I said, finally arriving at the pages I was looking for in the manuscript.
“As for myself, I believe that what is true for you is true for you, although no other person may agree upon your belief. Regardless, a truth for you, may not be true for others. Is that not a fundamentally sound assumption?”, I asked.
“I suppose you are right Mr. Holmes. It is difficult, if not impossible, to stay apace of your ability to remain logical in the face of a situation which is so absurdly enigmatic. You are proposing that the philosophical paradigm of reality should be considered of equal importance with fiction. How can you ever solve a criminal case, your occupation, if every piece of hard evidence could be a contrivance of imagination on the part of the investigator or of the criminal?”, said Mr. Dodgson.
“Quite the contrary”, I said. “But rather than keeping to my methods alone, let me ask you what meaning you attribute to the following passage in your book”, I said, turning to the page which described in the encounter between Alice and the Cheshire Cat.
“Let me read your own words to you.”
“…she was a little startled by seeing the Cheshire Cat sitting on a bough of a tree a few yards off.
The Cat only grinned when it saw Alice. It looked good-natured, she
thought: still it had VERY long claws and a great many teeth, so she
felt that it ought to be treated with respect.
‘Cheshire Puss,’ she began, rather timidly, as she did not at all know
whether it would like the name: however, it only grinned a little wider.
‘Come, it’s pleased so far,’ thought Alice, and she went on. ‘Would you
tell me, please, which way I ought to go from here?’
‘That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,’ said the Cat.
‘I don’t much care where–‘ said Alice.
‘Then it doesn’t matter which way you go,’ said the Cat.
‘–so long as I get SOMEWHERE,’ Alice added as an explanation.
‘Oh, you’re sure to do that,’ said the Cat, ‘if you only walk long
enough.’
Alice felt that this could not be denied, so she tried another question.
‘What sort of people live about here?’
‘In THAT direction,’ the Cat said, waving its right paw round, ‘lives
a Hatter: and in THAT direction,’ waving the other paw, ‘lives a March
Hare. Visit either you like: they’re both mad.’
‘But I don’t want to go among mad people,’ Alice remarked.
‘Oh, you can’t help that,’ said the Cat: ‘we’re all mad here. I’m mad.
You’re mad.’
‘How do you know I’m mad?’ said Alice.
‘You must be,’ said the Cat, ‘or you wouldn’t have come here.’
Alice didn’t think that proved it at all; however, she went on, ‘And how
do you know that you’re mad?'”
“So, Mr. Dodgson, let me pose the same question to you that young Alice asked of the chimerical cat in your own story: how do you know whether you are mad or not mad? How would you satisfy yourself that I am not mad? How do we know that everyone is mad or not mad?”, I said, rising from my chair to place the manuscript upon the sideboard.
I refilled my pipe once again, in anticipation of the protracted debate that was sure to follow on the heels of these profoundly absurd, yet existential queries and arguments.
Mr. Dodgson did not seem the least bit nonplused by my insinuation regarding his sanity, or the sanity of all. Rather, he thanked us very cordially for our hospitality, rose from his chair and reached the door to exit the apartment. As he reached the door he turned back to me.
“Mr. Holmes, I will leave the resolution of this mystery entirely in your very capable hands. If anyone were able to solve the questions you pose to me, I assure you that I am not that man. Neither are any of the mentors whom I have studied, including Sir Isaac himself. I trust that you will be kind enough to inform me of your eventual success, if such is possible. Good day to you, gentlemen”.
With that, he departed, clomped down the stairs. Through the window we saw him walk briskly away through a light drizzle of rain in the direction of the train station.
“What do you make of it Holmes?”, asked Watson, who seemed to have been disquieted by our visitor. “I must admit that our meeting with this gentleman is the most perplexing I have ever had,” he said, resuming his seat in front of the fire.
“Yes. Most perplexing, indeed”, I agreed, taking my own seat and refilling my pipe. “Most perplexing.”
“What do you know of this Dr. Doyle?”, I asked Watson after an interlude of silent contemplation.
“Well, I can’t say that I know anything about the man”, he said. “Have you not heard anything of him?”
“No. I have not. However, our friend, Mr. Dodgson seems to know quite a good deal about the fellow. So much so, that he was entirely certain that it is I that perform the part of an imposter in an imaginary play invented by this man!”, I observed.
“Well, my dear fellow, in my professional opinion as a doctor, I am certain that this gentleman is suffering from the residual effects of some narcotic. His own fantastical story, from which you read to us this evening, seems very peculiar indeed!”, said Watson. “And, his behavior is quite inappropriate for a professor of mathematics at Oxford, certainly. Perhaps the allegations suggested in the newspaper, that the man is a pedophile, or a kidnapper, should be investigated more thoroughly”, he suggested.
“Perhaps”, I said. “Let us sleep upon the matter for the moment. In this instance, however, the best way of successfully acting a part is to be it”, I conjectured. ”
___________________________________
Copyright © 2011 by Lawrence R. Spencer. All Rights Reserved.
Originally posted 2011-04-21 09:32:40. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
October 6, 2016
WHY FRIDAY THE 13TH IS “UNLUCKY” FOR US
One theory, about the origin of the “superstition” that Friday The Thirteenth is the “unluckiest day” recently offered up as historical fact in the novel The Da Vinci Code, holds that the stigma came about because of a single historical event that happened nearly 700 years ago. That event was the decimation of the Knights Templar, the legendary order of “warrior monks” formed during the Christian Crusades to combat Islam. Renowned as a fighting force for 200 years, by the 1300s the order had grown so pervasive and powerful it was perceived as a political threat by kings and popes alike and brought down by a church-state conspiracy, as recounted by Katharine Kurtz in Tales of the Knights Templar.
At dawn on Friday, 13 October 1307 King Philip IV ordered de Molay and scores of other French Templars to be simultaneously arrested. The arrest warrant started with the phrase : “Dieu n’est pas content, nous avons des ennemis de la foi dans le Royaume” [“God is not pleased. We have enemies of the faith in the kingdom“]. Claims were made that during Templar admissions ceremonies, recruits were forced to spit on the cross, deny Christ, and engage in indecent kissing; brethren were also accused of worshiping idols, and the order was said to have encouraged homosexual practices. The Templars were charged with numerous other offences, financial corruption and fraud, and secrecy. Many of the accused confessed to these charges under torture, and these confessions, even though obtained under duress, caused a scandal in Paris. The prisoners were coerced to confess that they had spat on the Cross : “Moi Raymond de La Fère, 21 ans, reconnais que (J’ai) craché trois fois sur la Croix, mais de bouche et pas de coeur” (free translation : “I, Raymond de La Fère, 21 years old, admit that I have spat three times on the Cross, but only from my mouth and not from my heart”). The Templars were accused of idolatry and were suspected of worshipping either a figure known as Baphomet or a mummified severed head they recovered, amongst other artifacts, at their original headquarters on the Temple Mount that many scholars theorize might have been that of John the Baptist, among other things.
Relenting to Phillip’s demands, Pope Clement then issued the papal bull Pastoralis Praeeminentiae on 22 November 1307, which instructed all Christian monarchs in Europe to arrest all Templars and seize their assets. Pope Clement called for papal hearings to determine the Templars’ guilt or innocence, and once freed of the Inquisitors’ torture, many Templars recanted their confessions. Some had sufficient legal experience to defend themselves in the trials, but in 1310, having appointed the archbishop of Sens, Philippe de Marigny, to lead the investigation, Philip blocked this attempt, using the previously forced confessions to have dozens of Templars burned at the stake in Paris.
With Philip threatening military action unless the pope complied with his wishes, Pope Clement finally agreed to disband the Order, citing the public scandal that had been generated by the confessions. At the Council of Vienne in 1312, he issued a series of papal bulls, including Vox in excelso, which officially dissolved the Order, and Ad providam, which turned over most Templar assets to the Hospitallers.” — (Wikipedia)
According to the book Alien Interview:
“A majority of the Templars fled to Switzerland where they established an international banking system (Footnote) which secretly controls the economy of Earth.”
“The Templars fled to Switzerland where they established an international banking system…”
“Banking in Switzerland is characterized by stability, privacy and protection of clients’ assets and information. The country’s tradition of bank secrecy, which dates to the Middle Ages. According to the CIA World Factbook, Switzerland is “a major international financial centre vulnerable to the layering and integration stages of money laundering; despite significant legislation and reporting requirements, secrecy rules persist and nonresidents are
This is VERY UNLUCKY for all the citizens of Earth!
Originally posted 2015-03-13 02:24:09. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
SPECTACULAR SPIDERS OF NICKY BAY
Spiders (order Araneae) are air-breathing arthropods that have eight legs and cheliceraewith fangs that inject venom. They are the largest order of arachnids and rank seventh in total species diversity among all other groups of organisms. Spiders are found worldwide on every continent except for Antarctica, and have become established in nearly every habitat with the exception of air and sea colonization. As of 2008, at least 43,678 spider species, and 109 families have been recorded.
VISIT THESE WEBSITES OF NICKY BAY TO SEE MORE SPIDERS (and other insects)!
http://www.flickr.com/photos/nickadel/sets/72157632977332646/
http://sgmacro.blogspot.com/2013/07/ultraviolet-fluorescence-in-spiders.html
Originally posted 2013-08-06 12:10:59. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
October 5, 2016
SHERLOCK HOLMES – MY LIFE, Chapter Five
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CHAPTER 5: THE MAD HATTER MATTER
The next morning, after a somewhat less than restful sleep, and a quick breakfast of eggs, bread and tea that Mrs. Hudson brought up to us, Watson and I set out upon a walk through the streets of London.
I felt that a freshening stroll in the morning after the rain might invigorate and clear our minds. It also gave us an opportunity to discuss the matters of the previous day, although our only resolve was that the behavior of Mr. Dodgson must have been an exhibition of some temporary depravity, illness or drug induced dementia.
After several hours we returned, somewhat more refreshed from the walk and our discussion of the “mad hatter matter”, as we referred to it, sardonically.
Awaiting our return at the downstairs entrance of 221 Baker Street was Wiggins, to whom I paid a schilling each day to act as my messenger boy and leader of the band of street urchins from the neighborhood who called themselves the Baker Street Irregulars. There services as spies, lookouts and messengers had proved invaluable to my investigations upon several occasions.
“Mr. Holmes, sir? “, he said holding out a small envelope to me.
“What have you here for me, lad?”, I inquired.
“For your eyes only, sir. I was instructed that I shouldn’t deliver this here message to no other person excepting yourself personally, sir”, he said. He handed me a plain letter envelope. There was no return address of the sender, which I assumed would be contained inside the message.
On the front of the envelope had been written in black ink with a quill pen the following:
“I have not seen these mysterious characters before, have you Watson?”, I asked my friend.
“It is certainly rather a curious production,” he remarked. “At first sight it would appear to be some childish prank. It consists of a number of crude, runic characters. Why should we attribute any importance to so grotesque an object?”
“Perhaps it is an inquiry from a potential client in urgent need of our professional assistance, but who wishes to remain anonymous”, I guessed. “I’m certain that the contents of the envelope will disclose the purpose and identity of the sender.”
I carried the letter upstairs, laid it upon the sideboard, removed my overcoat and hat, and lit a fresh pipe, returning to inspect the envelope before opening it.
I was satisfied that there was nothing suspicious about the envelope. I sat down and carefully opened the seal with a pocket knife. Inside was a single sheet of paper, folded twice. It was signed at the bottom of the page in the same handwriting as the envelope. Indeed, it contained no return address of the sender, nor did the message itself contain an address or instructions for further communication.
As I read the full body of the message a creeping sense of astonishment had, by the end, cart wheeled into complete incomprehension.
Even though I have made a meticulous study of ciphers as an adjunct to my detective practice, I was challenged to decipher the text of the note contained in the mysterious envelope I received in the morning. Watson and I laid the paper out before us upon the table and puzzled over the following message for several hours:
“The Allahakbarries are not all Scots
who play at games composed for tots.
Smiley Catchimmers we’re not:
But sproults realinating plots.
Like shmookly puffs of free advice,
that tempt young girls with Shroomic bites,
Hadmats doth our ship command
And Tinkerdust flies in NeverWonderLand.
Set sail Two Bakster, where myths reside,
therein Homelockshire is ascribed.
Safe from the Sea of Blood and Tears,
where fantasy doth erase all fears.
Moreality commits the crime,
when Love and Hope are not sublime.
Dare you not, and do not go
where fools and cowards fear to know
any man who has the goal
to seek the truth inside men’s souls!
Realination gives relief
to every traveler who seeks
The Whibbit Hole that leads to Peace:
Here within. Within your reach.”
“Obviously, this is a portmanteau poem meant intentionally to hide a cryptic message of some sort. On the surface it reveals the face of innocence, but beneath its cosmetic appearance I fear there might be a more sinister intent”, I observed, pointing out the obvious from first impressions.
After pondering over the poem I arose from the table to retrieve my tobacco from the toe of a Persian slipper in which I stored it. I stretched my limbs to relieve the stiffness which had accumulated from too much sitting. As I refilled and lighted my pipe, I crossed over to the sideboard whereupon I had laid aside the manuscript of Alice’s Golden Hour. I thumbed though it casually until I arrive at the page I sought.
“I am reminded of a passage from the story by Mr. Dodgson which seems rather appropriate to the riddle laid before us by this anonymous author”, I remarked to Watson, and read the following passage to him:
“‘Why is a raven like a writing-desk?’
‘Have you guessed the riddle yet?’ the Hatter said, turning to Alice again.
‘No, I give it up,’ Alice replied: ‘what’s the answer?’
‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ said the Hatter.
‘Nor I,’ said the March Hare.
Alice sighed wearily. ‘I think you might do something better with the time,’ she said, ‘than waste it in asking riddles that have no answers.'”
“Inasmuch as the poetical composition of the piece seems to use portmanteau words, it would be reasonable to assume that Mr. Dodgson was the author of the piece, but for whatever obtuse purpose is as yet unclear to me”, I said.
“If indeed Mr. Dodgson is the author of this message, I do not understand how he could have had time to write it, and post it from Oxford. He only left us last evening, and yet the letter was delivered to us this very morning”, said Watson. “Is it possible for a letter to arrive from Oxford so quickly?”
“You are quite right, Watson. However, inasmuch as the envelope does not bear a post mark, the origin of the letter cannot be precisely determined. However, as in the case of the Five Orange Pips, it is probable that the origin point of the message was close enough to have been sent and delivered within a few hours. Therefore, if indeed our Mr. Dodgson is the author, he would have to have written it and posted it before he returned to Oxford. In fact, it is only our presumption that he returned to Oxford. It may well be that the gentleman never left London at all.”, I said, picking up the envelope and reexamining it.
“Let us give the letter and the envelope further study, Watson, over tea. I’ll summon Mrs. Hudson to bring it up straight away. This case is one where we have been compelled to reason backwards from effects to causes”, I said as I walked to the door.
“As I remarked to Mr. Dodgson during his visit with us yesterday, this is yet another exercise in solving a problem in which me must be able to reason backward,”, I said to Watson, as we poured over the curious phrases of the poem to discern the meaning of it.
“We must then begin from the beginning. It occurs to me that I did not inquire with Wiggins as to how he came to deliver this letter me, rather than the postman. Indeed, if the letter had been sent by the official post, it would bear the stamp of the station at which it had been posted. As there is no such stamp upon the envelope, it cannot have been posted officially”, I thought aloud.
“Since we have no clues as to the author of this cryptic missive, then let us trace the steps backward from Baker Street to the place from which is was sent”, Watson suggested. “But where shall we begin? The messenger who delivered it has gone, and surely the post master will know nothing of it”.
“Why then, let us send for young Wiggins. Perhaps he can provide us with the missing information required to solve the puzzle. Let us ask him from whom he received the message and what instruction he received for delivering it to me”, I said.
It was a simple matter to summon Wiggins. I merely through up the sash of the window overlooking the street and whistled loudly. Within moments one of the Baker Street Irregulars appeared beneath me in the street. I shouted down my instruction to him that he was to find Wiggins and bring him to me straight away. Within ten minutes both of the boys appeared at the door of our apartment.
“Wiggins”, I asked the boy, showing him the envelope in order to refresh is memory, “who was it that gave you this envelope to deliver to me and what instruction did that person give to you regarding it?”
“The gentleman what give it to me was only as bit taller than I am myself”, he said, gesturing with his hand to show the height as being only an inch more than his own. “He was dressed like a fine gentleman, all in black, he was. And with a fine dark mustache. He asked me if I knowed you, and when I says I did, he says I was to give you the letter to your own hand, personal, and to none other. He says he would put a twopence in my hand when I come back and he was sure I had done it. He was good to his word, he was”, said Wiggins producing the coin from his pocket as proof of his story.
Wiggins was a lad of 10 or 11 years of age and stood little more than 5 feet in height! Surely the man in question must be a dwarf, or perhaps a woman or boy dressed in a disguise.
“In what voice did this man address you, Wiggins? Could you judge anything else about him from his speech or appearance?”, I asked.
“He was a Scot. I’d lay my life to it, I would. He didn’t speak much, just that I was to deliver the envelope to you directly”, said Wiggins assertively.
I patted him on the head and gave him a twopence for his trouble. Wiggins sped away with his companion and out of sight around the corner at George Street. Although this information was of interest, it provided neither Watson or I with any idea whatsoever as to the identity of the mysterious person from whom Wiggins had received the envelope.
As we resumed our seats at the table to drink the tea Mrs. Hudson provided for us, Watson carefully made a copy of the poem on two separate sheets of paper, preserving the original, so that we could each study it more thoroughly at our leisure. I also asked him to be kind enough to make one additional copy, which I intended to send by dispatch to my brother Mycroft, whom I was sure could lend invaluable assistance in deciphering it.
“Breadth of view is one of the essentials of our profession. The interplay of ideas and the oblique uses of knowledge are often of extraordinary interest. That is precisely the reason that no single person is more ably suited to assist us in our search than my dear brother Mycroft”, I said to Watson.
“Well Holmes”, said Watson, pushing back his chair from the table at the end of two hours spent making copies of the poem. “It was now approaching the supper hour. Apart from the tea we had taken, we had nothing to eat the whole day. I am famished!”, he said.
“Quite so, my dear Watson, quite so. I beg your forgiveness for absorbing your entire day in the pursuit of this trivial investigation. I fear that I have nothing more pressing to investigate than the solution of an enigmatic riddle, and have therefore, consumed time which might ordinarily been applied in pursuit of solving a murder or an affair of state worthy of our efforts”, I said with disappointed resignation.
“Moreover, in spite of my grandiose self-assurances that reasoning backward would lead to a logical resolution of the present mystery, we are no closer to resolving this riddle than Alice at the table of the Mad Hatter!”, I said, rising from my chair to retrieve my coat and hat.
“Let us dine out this evening, Watson. It will be my pleasure to treat you to your favorite meal, whatsoever you may choose”, I said.
We descended the stair, hailed a passing hansom cab and set out into the evening in search of epicurean sustenance.
____________________ End of Chapter 5 __________________
Originally posted 2011-06-01 23:28:53. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
WOODEN MOON MYTH
“LIKE AND SHARE” IF YOU BELIEVE IN NASA
A WORLD OF UNTOUCHABLES: ONE FACE AT A TIME
“Anyone who is not willing or able to submit to mindless economic, political and religious servitude as a tax-paying worker in the class system of the “Old Empire” are “untouchable” and sentenced to receive memory wipe-out and permanent imprisonment on Earth. The net result is that an IS-BE is unable to escape because they can’t remember who they are, where they came from, where they are. They have been hypnotized to think they are someone, something, sometime, and somewhere other than where they really are.”
— Excerpt from the Top Secret military transcripts published in the book ALIEN INTERVIEW.
This is the most extraordinary collection of photographs I have ever seen! Photos of individual faces of people from “Third World” countries all over the world. While looking at these pictures of individual faces — all of whom are from countries and “alien” cultures around the Earth — I had the realization that EVERY ONE of these people is just like me. We are all stuck on this planet together, against our will. Each one of us has the same right to be here as any other. In Western “civilization” the “right” of an individual to his personal freedom and life are determined by how much money and possessions a person accumulates during their lifetime. This is the point of view of a person who has BECOME the physical universe. Their spiritual essence has been lost. They have BECOME the physical universe. Fortunately, most of the beings on this planet do not aspire to become a physical object. The Immortal Spirit endures in each individual.
Click on this link to scroll through this extraordinary Flickr Set of wonderful photographs: http://www.flickr.com/groups/closeupportraits/pool/with/3643376672/
Originally posted 2012-09-26 23:14:02. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
