It’s
the fall of 1945 and I’ve happened upon a high school football game. A couple
of months earlier, Japan surrendered, and World War II was finally over. The 17
year-olds I’m watching playing football just missed having to go to war. Many of
them will still be drafted after they graduate because of post-war
peace-keeping efforts, and also because of the emergence of the Soviet Union as
a world power and a threat to America. Some sadly, will die in the Korean War
that starts in a mere five years.
But
now it’s a beautiful afternoon in October and the only warfare is the one
between the opposing teams. The home team, I am told, is wearing white jerseys
with purple numbers. The uniforms are not uniform. Some have purple stripes on
the sleeves of the jerseys, and some have purple stripes in the shoulder area.
But no one cares. The other team has mostly red jerseys. This is before face
masks on helmets, so more bloody noses are evident.
It’s
a Friday afternoon, so most folks are still at work, but even so, there are a few
hundred fans in attendance. They’re laughing, eating popcorn, and having an overall
great time. There’s a sense of release and relief after years of hardship and
going without.
I
spend the weekend traveling mostly along dirt roads and where possible,
directly through forested areas. A suspicious bull charges me as I walk through
a fenced grazing area, but the he withdraws when he realizes I mean him no
harm.
Our
lives contain a cycle from intangible to tangible to intangible. I suppose that
I’m in some state between intangible and tangible. It’s the only thing that
makes sense. Some things I can explain. Some things I can’t. We are Lifeforms.
Our form is tangible, and our life or spirit is intangible. Another name for
our lifeform is our soul. When the spirit or life escapes the form, the form
begins to decay. What happens to the soul? Does it just disappear?.
Monday
morning, I apply for a job at the Center Coffee Shop in Womanski, a small town
of sterling reputation, renowned for its beauty and hospitality. At least,
that’s what the large sign says as you approach the city limits. Ted Williams,
the famous baseball player, would pass through Womanski on his way to fishing in Florida.. He is reputed to have said it was the prettiest town on the
east coast between Boston and Key West.
I
get the job but it’s only for a few days. To be honest, that’s the only kind of
job I apply for. I usually fill in for someone who is out sick or when business
is especially heavy. At the Center Coffee Shop, I get my own department. I’m
chief dishwasher and busboy. Meals are part of the deal.
The
CCS (as the locals call it) lives up to its name. It’s dead in the middle of
town. It has a steady crowd for breakfast and lunch but is a little less
crowded for dinner. People, for the most part, in small towns still enjoy
having evening meals in a family setting. The really hopping time though is
mid-morning when businessmen and farmers saunter in to drink coffee, smoke
cigarettes, and discuss all manners of topics, far and wide. No gossip, mind
you. Some even claim they’re doing business when they meet with other
businessmen. You know, like conducting business on a golf course. Except for
the smoke, it’s a welcoming atmosphere. But they’re used to it and it doesn’t
really bother me. It’s only for a few days.
All
the walking has worn out my shoes, so during a break, I go down to the Belk’s
department store, which is also located on main street. I buy a sturdy pair of
low-cut walking boots. The clerk can’t believe the condition of my old shoes.
“Did
you walk across the country with these?
“Just
about.” I laugh and pay him for the new pair of boots.
When
I get back to the CCS, the owner tells me that the regular dishwasher will be
back the next day. I finish out the shift and tell everyone adios. It’s what
the Lone Ranger would say before he jumped on his horse and rode off into the
sunset, crying, “Hi Ho Silver, Away!” or something like that. Since I didn’t
have a horse, I just left quietly.
Why
did it take so long to develop time travel? The basic technology had been available
since the late twentieth century. Technicians were in the right ballpark when
they figured out how to integrate and overlay the videotaped version of one
person into the videotaped (I’m using videotaping as a generic term for any
system or method of an audio-visual recording) version of another person, e.g.,
injecting Jerry Seinfeld into a scene from a Humphrey Bogart movie. The step
that was missing was to make it a 3D experience. That happened sometime in the
25th century.
But
how do you videotape all of human history and then put it in comprehensible
compartmentalized chunks? I can’t answer that. But obviously someone or some
group figured how to do it.
But
why do it? Because it had to be done. Humanity was on the verge of being lost.
Most humans were not reprehensible or unredeemable. Given the right
opportunity, most humans would lead productive, non-violent lives.
Now
running parallel to this techno-theology was the religions of the world. Your
religion was usually determined by your geographic identity. All religions
included God but not all religions acknowledged that they were a religion. But
everyone worshiped something and that something was their God. It was often God in
disguise though. He might be clothed in reason or in success or in fear. God
was omnipresent. A human carries God with him wherever he goes, whether God
wants to be there or not. If God had his druthers, he would be
semi-omnipresent. But he’s a good sport and he tends to take the good with the
bad.
Our
only hope is God. But what is “our” hope? Is everyone’s hope the same?
I’ve
just crossed from Vermont into Quebec. I had a passport, so it was no problem.
The border guard seemed a little surprised I was not driving a car, but a lot
of hiking goes on this part of the country where two countries meet. My plan
was to walk to the St. Lawrence River and then walk north alongside it. It was
summer, so biting winds, icy temperatures, and drifting snow should not be a
problem.
I
bypassed Montreal and headed for Quebec City. There the British were rewarded
with a decisive victory in the French and Indian War when the forces of Wolfe
defeated the forces of Montcalm.
Not
too far from the river, I take a seat in a sidewalk café and order coffee. A
man and woman soon take seats at my table. We have been acquainted with each
other for hundred of years. But that’s strictly in a technical sense. I barely know them.
The
purpose of the meeting is to see how I’m doing. Apparently, I’ve reached the
mid-point of my assignment. I don’t whether I should be relieved or concerned.
What happens to me when the assignment is over? Do I get a new assignment, or
do I go into some kind of deep freeze?
The
man speaks first, “We always check in around the halfway point. The agent is
usually beginning to lag in spirit and energy, so we arrange to meet in an out-of-the-way
location and see how things are going.”
“You
mean a pep talk?”
The
woman replied, “If that’s want you want to call it.”
“I’m
actually doing quite well. In fact, I’ve never felt better physically, and I’m
finding the better I feel physically, the sharper I am mentally.”
The
woman spoke once again, “How about emotionally?”
“Emotionally,
I try to stay neutral. And even though I feel sharp mentally, I find the
hardest thing is dealing with the contradictory aspects. A lot of the concepts
and tropes I go by are not consistent. They flutter in the wind.”
The
man offered, “That’s the nature of reality.”
I
responded, “One thing I have learned though.”
“What’s
that?”
“I
see why we need eternity to get things straight.”
A
waitress appeared and they disappeared. I was more than happy to pay for their
coffee.
On
my way back south, I stopped in Concord, Mass to see Walden’s Pond and
Thoreau’s cabin. I don’t know for certain, but I think Thoreau is somewhere in
time looking at all the sights and writing millions of words about the
experience.
Passing
through Lower Manhattan, I arrive at Battery Park, then take a ferry to Liberty
Island, which is the home of, you guess it, the Statue of Liberty. Among the
sightseers, are a group of Japanese tourists, one who speaks quite good
English.
I
ask him, “Do you have anything like this in Japan?”
“We
have statues, but nothing like this. We don’t think of liberty the same way you
do in America.”
“What
do you mean?”
“Personal
freedom is not as important to us as it is to you. But things are changing in
the right direction. We love our country but it’s great to see other parts of
the world.”
I
traipsed on down to New Jersey. New Jersey was the purported scene of the Martian
invasion, the War of the Worlds, broadcast on radio by Orson Welles in the late
1930’s. Fantastic as it may seem, it scared the hell out of a lot of people.
The real Martian invasion of 2050 went much more smoothly. Only one-percent of
the population even knew it happened and those were the ones who were taken
away and transported back to Mars. Their sudden absence was explained by
claiming it was the Rapture.
I
ended up in the piney woods section of New Jersey. The years were starting to
merge, and I was having trouble keeping them straight, but I think it was the
early 1960’s.
The
area was lightly populated and where I was there was not much artificial light,
so I had a fairly unencumbered view of the night sky. I found a soft spot of
pine straw on the ground, laid on my back with my hands behind my head and
gazed up into the sky.
Then
I fell asleep.
This
was embarrassing. I began to think it might be time to report back to
headquarters for a recharge of the old batteries. I’m speaking metaphorically,
of course. Even though re-integrated and enhanced, I’m still a live, fully
functioning human being with all that that entails. But I had
done an awful lot of walking and it appeared to be catching up with me.
Fortunately,
an inner chronometer (another metaphor) woke me up in the nick of time. It was that
time the poets call “darkest before the dawn”. As soon as I opened my eyes, I
saw it. There it was. The Heavenly Cross. Two lines of stars crossing each
other. Just like Pastor T.J. Smithville said he had seen.
But
the stars weren’t stationary. They were actually falling stars, a meteor
shower. The amazing thing was that they were falling while staying in
formation. I wasn’t far from the Atlantic Ocean, and as best as I could tell,
they went plunging into the sea.
Now
the sea is humanity and the falling stars are celestial beings. They had come
to earth via a coruscated sky.
Collectively, they were well beyond my capabilities, but I might be able
to mentally engage them on an individual basis. But I would have to spot
them before they spotted me. I needed the power of surprise. And at the moment,
I had that because, historically, there is no record of me being in this part
of country in 1962.
