Where is Everyone? Sex: Swapping Consciousness

When Harold came out of his meditative trance he was staring at his face. His voice said to him, “Welcome back, Harold. How do you feel?” Harold assessed his feeling. He felt … different. He didn’t know how to describe how he felt because he was experiencing feelings and emotions he never had previously. Even his thoughts seemed different; they had a different flavor and Harold was surprised that he thought of his thoughts as having flavors and scents. Harold felt he was himself and, yet, not at all “Harold” as he had remembered himself being.

Harold said, “I don’t know how I feel.” He was shocked by the sound of his voice. It was mellifluous. He thought to himself, “I never describe anything as ‘mellifluous.’” Even his inner voice was honeyed, sweet and as thick as maple syrup. His thought was strong but flexible, imbued with dexterity and clarity. “I feel fresh, renewed, more than who I used to be. What happened?”

He looked at himself and his old voice said, “You picked up the hose and inhaled at the same time I did. Your consciousness is in my body and mine is in yours.”

Harold asked, “You're Arab Jesus?”

Harold heard Arab Jesus laugh through his old mouth. The sound was different than he remembered. It was crude, but its sincerity gave it a beauty it otherwise would have lacked. He looked into his eyes—now the eyes of Arab Jesus—and saw them dancing. He doubted his eyes had ever danced like that when his consciousness occupied that body. The way Arab Jesus was looking at him made him feel—what was the sensation? Aroused? He said, “I think I’m feeling aroused, but it’s so different than how I used to experience it. It’s more,” he paused to think of the right words, “full-bodied. I want to devour you and be ravaged by you … at the same time.”

Arab Jesus said, “I remember that feeling. I admit, my previous body is incredibly sexy and it is really jacking up the hormones. It’s hard to think about anything but kissing you right now.”

Now Harold was getting really turned on. He could feel a sensation in his loins, a tingling. He also noticed that his crotch was moist. He momentarily wondered if he should refer to himself as herself. He said, with more than a little heat in his voice, “Should I still call myself Harold and you Arab Jesus?”

“Call me Ari and I’ll call you … hmmm … I still like Harold, if that’s okay.”

“Yes, I think it’ll make it easier for now. Still, I feel like a woman.” Harold looked down at his body. He saw his breasts jutting outward, heaving up and down with his breath. This turned him on even more. He moved his arms, the sensation like magic, his muscles sinnowy, light, and graceful. His fingers were long and thin and they moved delicately. He brought both hands to his breasts and cupped them, squeezed them. Harold gasped in delight. “Oh my Godddddd! Hooouuuhhh, that’s, wow, wow.” His breathing was more rapid now. He could feel his face flush with a rush of blood.

Ari, meanwhile, was watching Harold and becoming more aroused as well. She felt, for the first time, the growth of an erection. She let out a gasp and said, “Dear Lord, that’s such a powerful sensation. Whew, having a penis with such intense hormones, wow, no wonder guys can barely contain themselves when they get turned on. I can barely think, it’s just pure emotion and it’s really aggressive. It’s hunger. Wow!”

Harold heard these words while exploring more of his own body. He moved his hands to his legs and felt the skin of his thighs. The skin was smooth and silky to the touch. It tempered the heat of his passion, created a more sensuous feeling. His thoughts were mingling with his emotions, dancing together in a romantic embrace. Harold audibly sighed as he brought his left hand up to stroke his neck as he leaned his head back. Harold realized that as excited as he was by his old body and Ari’s use of it as well as her words and actions, he didn’t need his old body or Ari to feel incredible sexual pleasure. He was experiencing, in just a matter of minutes, more complex emotions and sensations than he'd ever had in his own body.

“Being a woman is way better than being a man! My God, I’m overwhelmed by the totality of what I’m experiencing. I can tell, too, that I’m just tickling the surface of what I can feel. It’s the whole body, every part of it unified in a whole, a rippling wave of sensation that shifts each moment. The richness of being a woman is unlike anything I ever imagined. If women only knew how much better they had it than men.”

Ari said to Harold, “I think I know what you mean, but there’s something to be said for the intensity of this singularity. Everything, everything, disappears except for the cock. Once it becomes hard there’s nothing else that exists. ‘I am cock.’ That’s what it feels like. I can’t even tell if my words are coherent and, honestly, I don’t even care. I just want to fuck you!”

Harold was somewhat rattled from his reverie. Not entirely, but when Ari bellowed “I just want to fuck you,” he felt a little threatened. Aroused, too, in a different way than he had been earlier. It was a strange mix of emotions and concepts. The force with which Ari spoke, that booming voice, gave Harold a chill and seemed to evoke a flight or fight response. But there was such a sophistication of emotional complexity that the response was easily filtered. Harold understood, a little more, how ‘manliness’ could be an aphrodisiac. To be wanted like that, to be hungered for, to see a man practically helpless with desire, well, he felt powerful in a far less brute way. He realized how easy it would be to manipulate Ari given her ‘sexual condition.’ He could feel his pussy becoming wet, soaking his underwear. It was as if the power he felt by being wanted so desperately was an even greater turn-on than Ari's body.

Strangely, though, Harold did want Ari’s cock—the cock that used to be his! Part of Harold recoiled, but that quickly subsided. He had a woman’s hormones and he was either heterosexual or bisexual. His old thoughts were not really present any more; they had been integrated into the thoughts, emotions, and sensations of this new body. He also realized that it was Ari in his old body and the idea of having sex with her, no matter what body she occupied, was hot. Harold found it interesting how much more he was attracted to identity than to body. Both were present, but in his experience as a man he had mostly been turned on by women’s faces and bodies. Yes, to some degree their personality, but that had more to do with emotional intimacy than physical sexuality. Harold realized there truly were radical differences in sexuality between men and women. He experienced a moment of reverence when he became more fully aware that he was experiencing what it was like to be a woman after having been a man his whole life. No one of today could say such a thing, but yesterday was proving to offer opportunities that today could only dream possible.

Ari asked Harold, “Do you mind if I remove my robe? I want to feel my new body, especially my cock. I can understand why guys don’t refer to it as a penis. It feels like a cock way more than a penis. ‘Penis’ is such a weak word to describe something with this much force. This thing just dominates when it gets hard. Nothing else can compete with it. It’s amazing! I’m in awe of it. I have to see it, Harold. I hope you don’t mind.”

As Ari disrobed, Harold moved his arms behind him and propped himself up on his hands. He tilted his head and felt a wry, sexy smile form on his face. The smile alone felt erotic to Harold—he was shocked at how easily his own body aroused itself. He looked at Ari standing, admiring her new cock. She moved her hands over her chest, felt her biceps, and then slid them down her stomach to her crotch, probing through pubic hair, and then reaching the base of her cock. She stopped there, leaned her head back, and moaned. Her right hand slid along the shaft and gripped around the head. She throttled her head forward and thrust her hips outward, looking down into Harold's eyes, her own eyes wild and her mouth agape. She gasped and yelled, “Holy fuck, Harold! Wow, oh wow, oh wow, oh wow.” She moved her hand back down the shaft and then back up, slowly at first, but then her pace increased. She was gasping and moaning.

Harold quickly got up and walked over to her. He placed his hands on hers and pulled them away. Harold said, “Hold on, you’re going to cum before you’ve really explored at all. I know the urge is insatiable and you’re experiencing your first erection, but you’ll be much more satisfied if you wait. Believe me, the pain of withholding is a pleasure in itself. Trust me, it took a long time to be able to resist the urge to just abandon myself to my cock, but learning how to control the urges and take control of your sexuality as a man is worth it. It’s probably the most difficult thing a man has to learn in life. But if you want to develop a richer sexual life as a man it’s wise to learn this practice. Plus, it’ll keep you from fumbling all over yourself when you’re in the presence of a woman.”

Ari looked at Harold with a mixture of anger and gratitude. Harold told Ari, “Be patient and I’ll make sure you feel good.” Harold smiled coyly at Ari and she appeared to melt.

“My God, Harold, you’ve become a woman so fast. I remember feeling the way you are, the subtleties and richness of the sexual dance. It’s intoxicating from this point of view. You own me right now.”

Ari put her hand on Harold’s breast and tenderly squeezed it. Harold let out a low sigh. Harold thought, “God, that feels good! Wow, I think I need to take off my clothes as well. I want to explore this body. I’m sure Ari will enjoy watching.

Before Harold could get a word out, though, Ari said, “Isn’t it interesting that sexuality is the first thing that jumps out at us when we switched consciousness? It makes sense. It reminds me how much more important the body is than we assume. We get so used to being in the same body that we take it for granted and get lost in thought. The newness of emotions and sensations in a different body highlights just how physical we really are.”

Harold looked down at Ari’s cock and noticed it was shrinking into a penis. He said to Ari, “It’s also interesting that you went limp as soon as you made an intellectual observation.”

Ari looked down at her penis and laughed. “You’re right! How weird! Huh, for a man the correlation between intellectualism and sexuality is polar. I can tell you from experience that the same isn’t true for women.”

Harold considered this and focused on his body. Ari was right. Harold still felt aroused, but more softly sensual. Harold found the range of erotic emotions and sensations of a woman absolutely remarkable. If he wasn’t occupying Ari’s body he’d have been jealous. For the first time, he wondered if he’d want to return to his own body. Why give up this?! There was no question that he didn’t need Ari for sexual gratification. The only thing Ari—or any man—provided was a wider range of sexual sensations and experiences. There was something to be said for that, but Harold realized he could have an amazing sex life as a woman while remaining celibate.

He said to Ari, “I want to take off my clothes, too, explore my body—and get you turned on again!” Harold noticed that Ari’s member flinched from that statement. He laughed as he remembered experiencing the same thing thousands of times. A woman saying something even remotely provocative had had that effect on him. Harold continued, “But before I do I want to say something and ask you something. I’m noticing that I could be perfectly happy sexually on my own. That’s radically different than my experience of sexuality as a man. I’m also aroused by the idea of pleasing you sexually. There’s something about your hunger for me that excites me. I don’t need you, but I want to be ravaged by you, partly for me and partly for the pleasure of making you happy. I’m realizing just how much more power I have as a woman in the sexual dynamic with you as a man. Did you experience anything similar as a woman?”

Ari rolled her eyes and sighed. “Yes. Fuck! I completely forgot about that. Once the cock becomes engorged I can’t think straight. My thoughts become a jumble and I can’t remember anything. My thoughts have been very strange since occupying your body. I hate to say this, but I feel relatively stupid and simple-minded by comparison. But, yes, I do remember feeling variations of what you are describing. You are barely even scratching the surface of female sexuality.”

“Sadly, Ari, I think you’re experiencing much of what passes as male sexuality. Not all, believe me; there is more complexity than you’re currently experiencing. But compared to a woman, now that I’m experiencing life in this body, men are simple in terms of sexual emotional complexity. You’re right about thought, too. It seems to me that the richness of emotional experience that comes from the complexity of sensuality layers thought in a way men can’t experience. I haven’t even explored my pussy yet! I can feel my clitoris throbbing and it’s amazing!” Harold bent his knees as he emphasized the word. “Having erotic sensations within me instead of protruding from me? God, I love the vagina. When it gets wet it’s just … the sensation is so different from the clit and the pussy lips, but all of them, all together make up a tapestry of eroticism that men will only ever be able to imagine. It’s probably for the best. If men knew what they were missing they’d spend their lives in tears. Honestly, Ari, I’m sorry you’re having to experience sexuality as a man after being a woman.”

Ari responded, “Don’t say that, Harold. You’re mostly right, but I have never experienced the totality of sensation emanating from a single part of my body like this. It’s mind-blowing! I’m not really complaining about not being able to think straight; believe me, there’s something special about being so overwhelmed by such an intensely powerful sexual drive. It’s ridiculous! Yes, I can see how it’s a suffering in a way, but I have a feeling that when satisfied, when I have my cock inside you, that I’m going to feel sooooooo good that I won’t remember anything about how it felt to be a woman.”

Harold thought that was an interesting perspective. “Maybe it’s a case of the grass is always greener or simply the newness of our respective sexualities,” thought Harold. He wondered, though. He had little doubt that the sexuality of women was exponentially more rewarding. Experiencing life in a woman’s body was breathtaking. There was no question in Harold’s mind that women experience a far more gratifying sexual life than men.

Of course, there were issues like rape and societal restrictions and norms that harmed and handcuffed women. There was also the biological reality of menstruation and childbirth. Harold wondered how awful it might be to have a period. He had no idea and, to a degree, he didn’t want to find out. Still, if what he was experiencing was the peak of womanhood he should also experience its valleys as well. He wanted a clear picture of what it was like, overall, to be a woman.

While Harold had been thinking those things, Ari had been fondling herself, looking down at her cock as it once again grew hard. Harold had been drawn out of his thoughtful considerations when Ari looked up at him with pure lust in her eyes.

“Harold?”

“Yes?” Harold felt uneasy, more than a little vulnerable. That look, oh my, that was a look. Frightening and exhilarating. If Harold hadn’t been aware that Ari inhabited that body, he would have likely been terrified. Because it was Ari, though, he felt himself becoming much more turned on. His feelings of sensuality had diminished somewhat, but now a more brute form of sexuality was arising. Harold found it fascinating because it reminded him somewhat of male sexual intensity. His thoughts were becoming single-minded. It was as if Ari’s lustful glare had unlocked a chamber he hadn’t realized was there. So, women can be seduced by men! Harold felt the power shift and he noticed that these new feelings were just as erotic but vastly different. Harold said aloud, “Wow.”

Ari grinned with deviant pleasure, her eyes bouncing around, taking in Harold’s body piece by piece. “You want your clothes off, right? Then let me undress you.” Ari walked around the hookah and up to Harold. Her face was close to his. Harold could smell her breath. The scent was surprisingly sweet. Perhaps the aftertaste of the waxy substance they’d inhaled was lingering.

Ari slowly wrapped her arms around Harold and began pulling down her top with one hand and her bottom with the other. She momentarily stopped, her lips not an inch away from Harold’s, her eyes penetrating deep into his. “I used to live in that body and I know exactly when, where, and how to touch you. We’re going to ascend to heaven and then I’m going to take you a little higher."

Harold felt woozy, absolutely entranced. "I want you, Ari, I want you."

…

Damnit! That's a shitty place to stop. Now I'm going to have to take a cold shower.

What is Art?

What is art? It would be arrogant of me to define art, as if any one person could do so. I’ll provide my explorations, my discoveries, my perspectives, my experiences, and my ideas. Nothing more, nothing less. It might end up being bullshit, but who knows?

When I was three years old I drew an airplane I’d seen flying through the sky while playing in a sandbox. I got out of the sandbox, opened the screen door, walked into the kitchen, went to my bedroom, grabbed some pencils and paper, and drew the plane I had just seen. The drawing was hyper-realistic. I drew the plane from the same angle I had remembered seeing it: from below. I didn’t draw a plane from the side, the front, the top, but from the underside at an odd angle from a far distance.

I put my face close to the paper to draw the precision in a very small but exact way so that it could represent what I’d seen when I saw it. I don’t remember what I was thinking as I drew it. I just drew it. When adults saw it they said, “Ooooh, he is a naturally gifted little drawer, a budding artist. Look at how well he can draw and he’s only three!”

At that age, I had few of the sorts of ridiculously false and misleading concepts imprinted on my brain, distorting my perceptions. I, at three, looked at my drawing and only saw how off I’d been in my representation. On the flip side, I was observing these adults who were looking at my drawing and looking at me making statements that seemed nonsensical. I figured their words were a type of play, an amusement of sorts, and I think I played their game with them (the memory is fuzzy on that point). It was fun as far as I can recall. But their thinking was of the type that develops amongst minds who had to figure out how to be functional in a surprisingly fucked up world and thus seemed robbed of inklings that discovery of their respective potentials were so much more vast than anything society imagined, knew, or allowed that they remained unwittingly trapped in a political, economic, cultural, and social conveyor belt of unfulfilling mediocre oblivion. Or, maybe, they saw the potentials, but didn’t have the energy, will, motivation, support, or … something else … to break free and let their minds open like the bloom of a flower.

Of course, flowers in bloom are nature’s Icarus, always following the sun, living short but spectacular lives, and then withering fast and falling to the earth to die, most likely forgotten. Does it matter? The point I was making was that I was sitting with my early attempt to create a symbolic representation of my perceptual experience … but not the entire perceptual experience; I was not trying to recapture the tactile sensations I felt as I arched my back and tilted my neck so that I could gaze above to visually search for the source of the auditory sound that had shaken the relative silence that had previously existed.

I, a three year old, was exploring the universe in the ways that my just-developing body, emotions, and mind were allowing me to do so. I am, as life form, wanting not just to know the universe, but to understand it. I did not want to understand the universe to dominate it, though. I wasn’t working for NASA, Russian space agencies, or corporations. I didn’t want to control time and space. I wanted to observe, make friends, and play. I wanted to have fun and I was curious about what existed, particularly what I did not know or understand.

I am an entity who has developed a particular self- and world-understanding. I am not willing to slow down for the timid. Goodbye, timidity. If you don’t like it, just get the fuck out of my way because I’m a bulldozer now and I am actively going to be working toward recreating the world in an image that I want. Yes, you may say that is arrogant, but it is actually quite humble because I, unlike the belligerent masses who impulsively act on any and every whim, have been waiting until I better understood my thought, emotion, body, and relation to the world. I didn’t go out at three or six or twenty or thirty-two to dismantle the world and make it in my own image. Who would do that?

Sociopaths, narcissists, etc. I hate to say it, but those personality “types” are not really psychological defects; they’re predispositions toward social advantage … in the thought and structure of Western civilization. It’s not socially acceptable to point out uncomfortable truths, but I don’t give a shit. I’m a flower in bloom and I will wither and die like all humans so why should I care what anyone thinks of me? Hell, everyone who might judge me is going to die as well so fuck ‘em if they don’t like what I think or do.

My drawing from three years old? I saw the flaws, I knew that even though the adults were complimenting the drawing that they viewed me as incapable of doing more because I was only three years old. As such, they limited me. I could have, by the end of that day, had I continued working, drawn a perfect representation that would have brought tears to the eyes of anyone who viewed it. Maybe. I’m going to say so because I don’t know what would have happened. I might have scribbled all over it instead—I wasn’t Mozart—but since all possibilities exist despite the world’s insistence to elevate probabilities over possibilities I believe I may have at least achieved a greater degree of satisfaction by transforming the drawing into ever greater opportunities to learn.

The same probably would have been true if I had sit at the piano and played. No imposition of “lessons”; just let me develop the ability to play by sound and spatial “feel.” I’ve done it as an adult, just sat down with no formal training and improvised. The first few minutes sound strange, but I’m just learning where the sounds exist on the keyboard, the area of the piano where certain notes are located, what playing two adjacent keys sounds like versus two keys pressed down with a key in the middle left alone. So on and so on and so forth, just focused exploration of sound, no worries about composition or so-called mistakes; there are no mistakes in that process because my intent is to learn where the sounds are located so I can begin to press keys in such a way that the sounds are enjoyable to me. I might do that for a time, take what I’ve learned and build a composition by ear, not one I could replicate exactly again—I’m not writing down notes for posterity or to play the same composition again and again and again. That’s not how I play; that’s not how I learn.

I own my learning. I create my learning. I don’t follow the rules of others. Those rules were developed by minds that think differently than I do and I don’t want someone else’s mind imprinted on my own. I’ll just end up discovering what they’d already discovered. I want to discover anew and anew and anew, to never stop learning, to never exhaust possibilities. How can I do that if I let others train me? Believe me, I do mean train rather than educate. I have respect for teaching and guidance, but not if it impinges on my ability to learn. There are plenty of authorities in positions of teaching or mentoring that hinder learning and even turn many away from learning as a practice entirely.

The economic system itself really fucks anyone who wants a life of unending, self-directed learning. External forces determining personal value? Fuck that. I don’t want to be a drone. Some do, I suppose, but has anyone in that situation learned enough to make a conscious decision to acquiesce? I doubt it.

I learned to paint in much the same way I described playing the piano. I used various instruments for application—putty knives, brushes, my fingers and hands—on various surfaces and found I like linen canvases best. I was attentive to how colors and textures looked adjacent to one another, spaced apart from one another. I didn’t have the language of color theory and I didn’t learn color theory and then try to apply it in my attempts to paint. Without knowing I was doing so I was learning color theory through my own self-directed efforts. As if there’s one way to learn color theory! For me, it is not by reading a book about color theory or even looking at images representing the concepts of color theory. My way is by using my eyes, hands, arms, body to find out what I like and don’t like. It was a long process, but I learned certain techniques, certain truths about colors along the way. I used acrylics because they dried quickly and I didn’t have a studio space. I found I liked laying the canvas flat on the floor and getting down on my hands and knees to circle the canvas while applying paint. Most of all, the process was fun. I was playing.

I think that’s what creating art is: play. If there is no imagination or experimentation or curiosity or possibilities of learning involved then I think it’s better to call the process work. I’ll let the Protestants have a strong work ethic. Me? I have a strong play ethic. If I’m not having fun discovering and learning then there’s no value in the endeavor.

The same is true when I look into your eyes and I allow you to see the fullness of my being in the way I am feeling it … through my eyes, lips, cheekbones, the angle of my neck, the arch of my back, the positioning of my eyebrows, how open or closed my hips are, whether I am tapping my foot or folding my arms, if I’m laughing or sighing, rolling my eyes, and, of course, if I lean forward and kiss you, tilt back away from you while whimpering, stomp on your foot to make you feel pain, tell you how much I like you, let you see everything about me as I’m able, and you, no matter how brilliant you think you are, still see little more than a guy who shows up late too often … but that’s because it’s what you really value. It all could have been discovery and play, but you fucked up by caring about something comparatively trivial.

That’s just it: I am not valued as I am. What is most valued about me is what I can do for you, what I can get for you, how I can advance your goals. I am an object for you to use to further your life. Your gift to me in return? “Hi, nice to see you. You’re a great guy. Thanks. Have a nice day.”

My response? Fuck you. Just turn and walk away when you’re done with me. I don’t need the bullshit niceties. It just wastes my time and it wastes yours and it leads to nothing but a sense that “Gee, maybe that person really does like me! After all, they just gave me the time of day, they told me they liked me, they did a few things with me.” No, this is the way it should be—well, for me, anyway: tell me, right off the bat: “I am a selfish prick. I don’t care about you, but I’m lonely and I’m hoping to siphon some energy off of you so I feel better. When I’m done and you are somewhat drained and you are looking for a mutual sharing, that’s when I am going to bail on you. Why? Because you gave me what I wanted and now I don’t need you and I never cared about you; I only cared about feeling a little bit better about myself.”

Engage with me if you want to collaborate, share, play, learn, live, and love. Anything less is a soul-crushing disappointment.

Where is Everyone? Five: Harold visits Arab Jesus

Arab Jesus was dressed like a belly dancer. She led Harold to her tent. It was very large, very pink, and made of silk. Arab Jesus grabbed Harold’s hand and they walked inside. Harold was dumbfounded by the opulence. There were pillows of every color scattered everywhere. Harold removed his shoes as the floor was like foam. Thick ropes hung here and there from rafters holding up the ceiling of the tent. Harold had no idea what their purpose was, but they added to the aesthetic design of the interior. There were potted palms in each corner of the tent. Three tiki torches were positioned at the center of each wall; there were torches on either side of the doorway as well. The light was soft but it was easy to see everywhere in the tent. A Chinese lantern hung from the peak of the tent. There were two large and ornate chests against the back wall on either side of the torch.

In the middle of the tent was a circle of pillows and in the center of the circle was a hookah with two hoses extended on opposite sides. Arab Jesus led Harold to a lush pillow in front of the hookah. Once Harold was settled, Arab Jesus walked to the chest on the left, opened it, and pulled out a small box. She walked back to the center and took a seat on a pillow opposite Harold. The box had hinges and Arab Jesus opened the lid. She pulled out a small three-pointed leaf, about two centimeters square.

Arab Jesus said to Harold, “This is a very special leaf.” She proceeded to put the leaf in the large bowl of the hookah. “You probably need sleep, but I want you to pick up the hose and inhale.” Harold did so. He held his breath for about ten seconds and exhaled a bluish smoke. Arab Jesus said, “Your inhalation of the leaf’s properties will allow you to feel as if you just slept for eight hours.” Harold was shocked, but noticed that he felt refreshed. Asian Jesus removed the leaf from the bowl and returned it to the box.

Arab Jesus removed another item from the box, a small brown waxy ball the size of a pebble. She held it up in front of her face to show Harold and then placed it into the bowl. “This substance, when inhaled simultaneously by two persons, switches consciousness from each body to the other. We call this substance the yin-yang.”

Harold was not sure he completely understood. “You’re telling me that if we both inhale from these tubes at the same time that my consciousness will be in your body and your consciousness will be in mine? That’s … amazing!” Arab Jesus smiled, but Harold became skeptical. “Are you messing with me? God told me Jesus’s enjoy playing jokes on others.”

Arab Jesus laughed. “God’s one to talk. God plays more practical jokes than all the Jesus’s combined!” She laughed even harder. “Oh, Harold, what you must think of yesterday.” Arab Jesus smiled benignly. “Are you willing to swap consciousness with me?”

Harold thought about her proposition. He would be in a woman’s body! There was certainly some appeal, especially as Arab Jesus was extraordinarily sexy. She had the body of a belly dancer and a deeply spiritual presence. He winced, though, when he thought of what it would be like to look at his face with the eyes of Arab Jesus. He thought to himself, “That might freak me out.” But then he thought what it might feel like to be in such a sensuous body, to feel what it was like to have such shapely curves, such full breasts, and … a vagina! Harold, without realizing it, blurted out, “Holy shit!”

Arab Jesus jumped in her seat and stared back at Harold with surprise in her eyes. She gasped and said, “Harold! You gave me quite a jolt. You were sitting so still, so deep in thought, and then you just exploded!” Arab Jesus began laughing. “Oh, Harold, what it must be like to be you.” She shook her head, softly chuckling to herself.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. The implications of switching consciousness just hit me. I mean, I’m incredibly intrigued. In fact, I’m aroused by the possibility. But,” Harold paused searching for the words bubbling to the surface of his thought, “will it be possible to switch back?”

Arab Jesus sat still for a few minutes. Harold was becoming uncomfortable. Just as he was about to speak, she said, “Yes. We can switch back … if that’s what we both want. If you want to switch back but I don’t then there will be no switching back. Conversely, if I want to switch back and you don’t there will be no switching back. Either one of us may try to persuade the other, but there can be no hostility or pressure to do so. Respect for and acceptance of one another’s wishes is tantamount.”

Harold sat with this information. He assessed the risk involved. What if he didn’t like being a woman, didn’t like living in the body of Arab Jesus? Could he take the risk of becoming trapped?

Suddenly, though, Harold had an epiphany: He was already trapped in the body where his consciousness resided. He understood what the Jesus’s had meant when they said his daughter had shifted time to allow him to realize he was a being that manifested as “Harold” rather than actually being “Harold.” He’d crafted an identity based in large part on his body, especially on having a penis!

This realization stunned Harold. He gazed at Arab Jesus with wonder in his eyes. “I understand. I really understand.”

Arab Jesus’s eyes lit up. “Oh, Harold, I’m so happy for you! I don’t want to temper your enthusiasm or detract from your euphoria this moment, but I will say that there are even greater understandings awaiting you. Still, it is very exciting and impressive to have realized what you have so soon after living yesterday. You have to foster your discovery so that you can develop it. Realizations are difficult to come by, but development of realizations into ways of thinking and living are much more difficult. Discipline is required, but not the sort of “I must tough this out” discipline you may have learned as a man today. You must learn how to be disciplined yesterday so that you develop appropriately for this environment. Seriousness is a significant obstacle and you harbor a great deal of seriousness within you. You were likely conditioned to be serious as today mistakenly equates seriousness with responsibility. It’s quite the opposite. Responsibility can only be developed through silliness.”

Harold listened intently, even leaning forward to focus his attentiveness. He didn’t think of it while Arab Jesus was speaking, but he felt like an acolyte, a student learning from a master. He held Arab Jesus in high esteem and felt grateful that she deemed him worthy of sharing her wisdom. He felt his heart swell and realized it had been constricted, perhaps by worry and mistrust … of himself as much as anyone else.

Harold said to Arab Jesus, “I want to do this. I want to switch consciousnesses.”

“Very well. There are a few things we must do to prepare. First, take off your clothes so that you can put on a white robe. I have one that will fit you in one of the chests.” Arab Jesus rose from the pillow and walked over to the chest. She lifted the lid, removed a white robe, closed the lid, and walked back to Harold. She held the robe and asked Harold to stand up. Harold did so. “Please disrobe Harold.”

Harold felt skittish about removing his clothes in front of Arab Jesus. She noticed this and said, “Harold, I will be in your body soon enough. There is nothing I will see that I won’t feel very soon.” Harold nodded in agreement and began removing his clothing. When he was finished, standing naked in front of Arab Jesus, she asked him to put his clothes outside the tent. “Someone will pick them up and take care of them for you.” Harold walked to the opening of the tent and set his clothes outside. He walked back and Arab Jesus held the robe up so Harold could slip into it. He pulled the sides of the robe together, one side overlapping the other, and tied the rope around his waist to keep the robe in place.

Arab Jesus said, “There, doesn’t that feel better?” Harold had to admit that it was very comfortable, much less constricting than his underwear, blue jeans, and sweatshirt. “Maybe this is why we’re all so serious today; we’re wearing clothes that bind up our bodies,” thought Harold. Arab Jesus walked to her pillow and sat and Harold sat on his pillow opposite her.

“Harold, I want you to close your eyes and relax. Remove all verbal thought from your consciousness. Concentrate on your breathing. In … and out … in … and out. Let the muscles of your body relax as you continue breathing in a relaxed manner. Feel the tension release from the muscles in your face. Feel your whole body as one interconnected entity. You have no arms or legs, no neck or chest, no feet or hands. You are simply a body, one uniform mass of relaxed flesh. Air is inhaled in and air is exhaled out. Breathing is the only activity of your body. The only movement you feel is air coming in and air going out. Continue breathing and relax, continue even after you stop hearing my voice.”

Harold slowly disappeared as an identity and became an indistinguishable mass that merely inhaled and exhaled air. The differentiation of time and space lessened to such a degree that Harold could not have measured either. He did not want to do so, anyway, not through will or desire but through an absence of will and desire. “Harold” ceased to be; a breathing mass of flesh remained.

...

chapter six coming soon ...

Where is Everyone? Four: Harold Meets God

Black Jesus used his flashlight to lead Harold to a latrine. Once Harold took care of business, Black Jesus walked Harold to a two-person pup tent. They had turned away from the bonfire and hopped over the ditch surrounding the inner circle of tents. Harold noticed that the revelry around the bonfire had ceased. The fire was smaller now, giving off less light.

Black Jesus opened the flap of the pup tent and said to Harold, “Duck inside. God wants to speak with you.”

Harold’s eyes widened. “God?”

Black Jesus said, “Yes, God. Don’t be intimidated. God’s just a being like any other, the only difference is the manifestation of being. You’re worthy as is each being no matter how manifested.”

Harold nodded his head and thanked Black Jesus. He ducked down and crawled into the tent. There was an upright flashlight covered in a pink handkerchief, giving the inside of the tent a pleasant glow. An old Native American man with a white beard sat cross-legged behind the light at the back of the tent. He held a potted cactus in his hands. His eyes were closed and he was humming a tune Harold did not know. Harold sat just inside the tent and assumed a cross-legged position as well.

The old man opened his eyes and placed the cactus on the ground in front of him. He reached down on his right and picked up a canteen. He handed it to Harold. Harold accepted it and drank from it. He extended his arm to hand it back, but the old man gestured for Harold to keep it. The old man reached down to his left and picked up a tray with chips and salsa. He handed the tray to Harold. Harold accepted it and placed it on his lap. He grabbed a chip, dipped it, and put it in his mouth. He chewed and swallowed it and then grabbed another chip.

The old man spoke, “Welcome Harold. I am pleased to meet you.”

Harold responded, “Thank you, God. I’m a bit overwhelmed.”

The old man laughed. “Oh, Harold, no. I am not God. I am the vessel God chose to talk to you.”

Harold asked the old man, “God’s not here?”

The old man said, “God is everywhere. God is manifesting as a peyote cactus in the potted plant in front of me.” The old man picked up the potted cactus and handed it to Harold. Harold put the tray of chips and salsa to the side and gingerly grabbed hold of the pot.

Harold asked the old man if he should hold the pot or put it down in front of him. The old man said it didn’t matter. Harold chose to hold the pot.

The old man smiled and said, “God is pleased with you, Harold.”

Harold said, “Really? Why?”

The old man said, “God loves you. God enjoys sitting in your lap.”

Harold shifted his position a bit. He felt a bit awkward holding God in his hands. He had a brief moment of doubt and thought to himself, “I’m holding God in my lap? This is …” He stopped himself from thinking that it was ridiculous. He remembered his realization when he was with the Bigfoot, Yeti, and Sasquatch Jesus’s, that he had too often been critical, judgmental, and not considerate of others. He let out a deep breath, calmed himself, and looked down at the peyote cactus. He asked the old man, “Should I talk to you or to God?”

“We are both present so we will both be able to hear you. You can look anywhere you please as you talk.”

“Are those your words or the words of God?”

“All words are God’s words, even those you speak.”

Harold nodded solemnly. He was intrigued. “Does that mean these words I’m speaking are God’s words?”

“Do you think they are?”

“I don’t know.”

“God said that your words are God’s. You don’t believe God is telling you the truth?”

“I don’t know. Before yesterday, which I guess would be today, I didn’t know whether or not I believed in God.”

“And yesterday?”

“Yesterday is so strange that I don’t know what or how to think.”

“You are confused.”

Harold sighed. “Yes, I am.”

“Perhaps if you worry less you will feel less confused.”

“I’ll try.”

The old man suggested Harold eat more chips and salsa. Harold did so. As he ate, the old man said, “God doesn’t want you to worry, Harold. God loves you and provides for you. Yesterday, anyway.”

“Does God love me today?”

“Yes.”

“Does God provide for me today?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

The old man took a deep breath and exhaled. “Today is a difficult time to be. Yesterday and tomorrow are much easier; more relaxing, more fun. The sex is better, too. God loves today but cannot provide help to any manifestations existing in the moment.”

“Why not?”

“God isn’t allowed to help today. The manifestations within now are resistant to God.”

“How so?”

“The manifestations choose not to let God help.”

“How do they do that?”

“By making decisions.”

“What kind of decisions?”

“The kind of decisions that reject God’s presence.”

“But what about religion and spirituality?”

The old man asked, “What about them?”

“Well,” said Harold, “Most religions preach that God is real, that if people place their faith in God then God will help them. If people pray or meditate then they’ll commune with God and God will be with them.”

“God doesn’t believe in faith. God doesn’t answer prayers, either. God prefers text messages. As for communion, God is always in communion with each manifestation of being, but in today God communes so thoroughly that each manifestation of being is God.”

Harold asked the old man, “Is that what is meant by the phrase, 'look within yourself'?”

The old man responded, “No. ‘Looking,’ even as a metaphor, has nothing to do with communing with God. God is in communion whether a person of today pays attention or not. Think of it this way: If God is communing with the manifestation of your being as Harold today then whatever you provide for yourself today God has provided you.”

“That’s pretty much meaningless.”

“Yes, that’s why God said that God does not provide for today. God provides for yesterday and tomorrow, though. I like living in yesterday. Tomorrow is good as well. Today? Eh, it’s an unfortunate time to be manifested. Be thankful you’re free from today; it’s much better yesterday.”

“I’m still getting used to it. I didn’t like it when my house burned down, I couldn’t find any neighbors, and I had to sleep in Wal-Mart, but once I met the Jesus’s in the parking lot things have been going better. Weird, but better.”

“Yes, Jesus’s make living better. They are funny.”

“Are all the Jesus’s your sons ... and daughters?”

The old man said, “Huh? Oh, that old gag! Ha! The Jesus’s make up a lot of stuff. Most of them are comedians by nature of their manifestations. Not all of them, though.”

Harold was simultaneously angry and amused. “Well, if they’re not … I mean, if … I don’t know what I mean.”

The old man laughed. “Ha! You are funny, too. You have a strange sense of humor, Harold, but God likes it.”

Harold asked God, “How many Jesus’s are there?”

The old man responded, “God does not know. God cannot count that high.”

“I thought God was omniscient.”

“Who told you that? Wait, never mind. The Jesus’s, right?”

Harold nodded his head and the old man laughed. “Can I ask you something, God?”

“You’ve been asking questions for some time. Why stop now?” The old man laughed.

Harold brushed off the laughter. He was annoyed, but tried to suppress it. “There are peyote cacti, ayahuasca, psychedelic mushrooms, and other plants with mind-altering, consciousness-expanding properties. Is that where God really is today?”

The old man stroked his beard with his hand as he sat quietly in contemplation. “God can understand why you would ask that question, but the answer is no. Those plants do make today much more interesting, though. Harold, God is sorry, but the conversation must end for the night. Take the peyote cactus with you. Arab Jesus is waiting for you outside the tent.”

Harold was surprised. “God wants to accompany me in the form of a cactus?!”

“Huh? Oh. Ha! I was fucking with you. I’m God. You’re just holding a potted peyote cactus. Ha ha ha ha! Oh, I enjoyed talking with you, Harold. You make me laugh. Have a good night. I’ll see you soon.”

Harold turned around and opened the flap of the tent. He carefully stood while holding the potted cactus. Arab Jesus stood in front of him. She was holding a lantern. Harold noticed a twinkle in her eye.

“Come to my tent, Harold. I have something to show you.”

…

What will happen next?

Where is Everyone? Three: Bigfoot Jesus

Harold woke as the Blazer was pulling into camp. He had been exhausted so he slept most of the ride. It was dark, but he could see a bonfire blazing in the middle of a huge circle of tents. As they stopped, Harold asked Asian Jesus how long they’d been driving.

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not. It probably doesn’t matter what time it is, either.”

Asian Jesus smiled. “Come on, let’s go to the camp.”

Harold and the four Jesus’s exited the Blazer. Black Jesus had a flashlight so they could make their way to the campsite without stumbling over rocks or bushes or cacti. They passed the first row of tents and then the second. Past the second row was a ditch and they hopped over it. They then walked past another row of tents and into the vast circle of space that surrounded the bonfire. Around the bonfire were dozens of people dancing and twirling. All of them wore white robes. Harold had a hard time making out any particular individuals. Some were short, some were tall, some were skinny, some were fat, some looked darker and some looked lighter, but it was all just a jumble of bodies intermixing and creating a tossed salad of uninhibited movement.

White Jesus said to Harold, “Come with me.” White Jesus walked Harold to a tall teepee, perhaps twenty feet in height and an indeterminately large base. The teepee was part of the circle of tents that ringed the fire and Harold noticed each tent was a different shape and size. Not all of them were technically tents, but Harold didn’t give it much thought as he was too overwhelmed to process everything that was happening.

White Jesus opened the flap of the teepee and told Harold to step inside. Harold stepped inside and saw a floating white light in the center of the teepee. It was small but it illuminated the entirety of the inner teepee. Harold noticed the fabric of the teepee was multicolored, mostly dulled mauves, violets, mulberries, fuchsias, and magentas. The design pattern was made of paisleys, spirals, and helixes with occasional vermillion wild lines that fit into no definitive categorical style.

There were logs at the base of the outer curves of the teepee. Two figures were sitting on logs on the other side of the light. Harold could see one figure on one side of the light and another on the other side. He couldn’t make out their features or even their shapes. They were like shadows. White Jesus said to Harold, “I’ll leave you so you can talk in private.” Harold grabbed Jesus’s arm. He had fear in his eyes. White Jesus smiled ever so slightly and gently removed Harold’s hand. “You’re amongst friends. There is nothing but love in here. Of course, love isn’t a singular entity.” White Jesus paused. “My point is that you’ll be fine. Enjoy yourself.” White Jesus slapped Harold on the back and left the teepee.

Harold stood inside the entrance of the teepee. He didn’t know what to do. He was confused. As he stood trying to think, the floating light in the middle of the teepee dimmed and went out. For a few moments everything was dark, but slowly three figures on the far log began to alight with a soft glow. Each figure looked exactly the same and as the light grew brighter Harold saw that they were exactly the same. Harold estimated that they must have been eight or nine feet in height, though it was hard to tell because they were sitting. They were human-like but covered in fur, like that of a bear. Even their faces were furry.

The figure in the middle spoke. “Harold, please, have a seat on the log next ours. Sit on the end so that you can see each of us. Don’t worry. It’s an oak log. Very sturdy.” Harold slowly walked to the oak log to his right. He sat on the edge of it. The figure closest to him, essentially on his right, said, “Hello Harold, I am Bigfoot Jesus. Sitting next to me is Sasquatch Jesus and next to him is Yeti Jesus.”

Harold was flabbergasted and, without thinking, blurted, “What?!” Sasquatch Jesus laughed heartily while the other two remained silent. Yeti Jesus said to Bigfoot Jesus, “I think Harold is having a hard time believing we’re real. Harold, we know that your existence today does not believe in Bigfoot or the other names we are called, but this is yesterday and we exist.” Sasquatch Jesus stood and walked over to Harold. He bent down and handed Harold a long pipe. Harold looked up at Sasquatch Jesus, his mouth dangling open, completely stunned by the mammoth size of Sasquatch. Sasquatch Jesus said, “This is a peace pipe. You merely have to inhale.”

Harold seized the pipe, put it to his lips, and inhaled. The flavor was different from that of the pipe he’d shared with Asian Jesus. He exhaled smoke and felt a mild calming effect. He extended his arm to hand the pipe back to Sasquatch Jesus, who had stood up again. “No, you hang on to the pipe Harold. Just put it down next you on the log." Harold did so as Sasquatch Jesus walked back to the log to sit. Harold noticed that their log was much bigger than his. He figured it needed to be, but he found it fascinating that there were different sized logs inside the teepee.

As if reading his thoughts, Bigfoot Jesus said, “We are sitting on a Redwood log. You are sitting on an oak log.” Yeti Jesus and Sasquatch Jesus nodded in agreement. Yeti Jesus asked Harold, “Do you like the peace pipe?”

Harold said, “Yes, I do. It’s beautifully crafted. What am I smoking, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Yeti Jesus said, “Your question does not bother me. You are smoking a peace pipe.”

Harold shook his head, “No, I mean what is in the bowl of the pipe that I’m smoking?”

Bigfoot Jesus said, “There is nothing in the bowl of the peace pipe. You are smoking the peace pipe. Look into the bowl and you will see.”

Harold picked up the peace pipe and looked. There was nothing in the bowl. It was merely carved wood. Harold looked back at the glowing Jesus’s and said, “I felt an effect of calm after inhaling and when I exhaled smoke came out of my mouth. If there is nothing in the bowl then how is that happening?”

Yeti Jesus said, “It is not happening. It happened. It happened because you inhaled the peace pipe and exhaled smoke.”

Harold looked at the bowl again and saw there was no evidence of burnt wood. “But nothing lit on fire.”

Bigfoot Jesus said, “That is true.”

Harold asked, “Well, then, how did I inhale smoke?”

Sasquatch Jesus said, “You did not inhale smoke. You inhaled air. You exhaled smoke.”

Harold sat perplexed for a few minutes. The Jesus’s remained silent. “I’m sorry to keep harping on this, but I don’t understand how I could breathe air from the peace pipe and exhale smoke.”

Sasquatch Jesus said, “You are correct. You do not understand.”

Harold gave up. He sat glumly for a minute before Yeti Jesus said, “Harold, do you want to see a magic trick?”

Harold smiled and said, “Yes, I do. I’d love to see a magic trick.”

Yeti Jesus responded, “Oh.” Yeti Jesus turned his head and stared straight ahead.

Harold waited for a bit and then asked, “Are you going to do a magic trick, Yeti Jesus?”

“No.”

Harold was exasperated. “If you weren’t going to do a magic trick then why did you ask me if I wanted to see a magic trick?”

Yeti Jesus was silent for a moment and then he said, “I wondered if you wanted to see a magic trick. Now I know you do.”

Harold thought to himself, “This is crazy. What am I doing here with three glowing Bigfoots who call themselves Jesus? Yetis don’t exist. Sasquatches are practical jokes in the Northwest United States. I suppose we’ll be going on a snipe hunt soon.”

Bigfoot Jesus interrupted Harold’s thought, “Harold?”

“Yes, Bigfoot Jesus?”

“You seem to be filled with doubt.”

“I am.”

“Is it because you don’t believe we are real?”

“I don’t know what to believe.”

Bigfoot Jesus sighed. “That must be very difficult. I would not like not knowing what to believe.”

Harold responded, “It is difficult. You don’t exist in the world I come from. You’re figments of people’s imaginations.”

The three Jesus’s sat up straight all at once and looked over at Harold with their eyes wide. The three of them said in unison, “You are wrong and you are right. We do exist in your today and we are figments of imagination. How did you know we were figments of imagination?”

Harold said, “I just assumed because there was no scientific evidence to prove you existed.”

Sasquatch Jesus said, “That’s because we exist as figments of imagination. Science cannot detect imagination.”

Harold thought about this. “If you exist as figments of imagination then how am I seeing you now?”

Yeti Jesus said, “It is not now. It is yesterday. Figments of imagination exist now and yesterday.”

Harold said, “That doesn’t make sense.”

Sasquatch Jesus replied, “What makes sense? Is there sense that is to be made and sense that is not made but still exists?”

Harold said, “You guys are making my head swim.”

The three Jesus’s laughed. Bigfoot Jesus said, “We are not making your head swim, but it would be very funny if we did. I would like to see your head swim. You helped create a figment of imagination within me. See how easy it is to make imaginary figments?”

Harold said, “So, if you’re figments of imagination, how is it possible that you have imaginations yourselves?”

The three Jesus’s looked at one another. They turned to Harold and said, “We do not know how. We just do.” Sasquatch Jesus said, “Perhaps you should inhale from the peace pipe again.”

Harold picked up the peace pipe and inhaled. He held his breath for a few seconds and exhaled a large cloud of smoke. He felt his body become loose and light. His thoughts were more relaxed, but instead of being lazier they were more alive. Harold asked, “Can a figment of imagination also be a being?”

Yeti Jesus said. “Oooh, I like this question. It is fun to play question and answer with you Harold. After we answer this question, can we ask you questions and then you answer? I think it is a good idea to take turns when playing games.”

Harold hadn’t considered this a game, but now that he knew the three Jesus’s did he let go of needing to know quite a bit. Why not have fun while learning in the process? Harold realized how constricted his thought was when trying to find answers to questions. He also realized he was aggressive and even a bit hostile as he asked questions to relieve his own anxieties without thinking of the well-being of others.

Harold was about to apologize, but Sasquatch Jesus began answering his question. “No, a figment of imagination is not a being. Figments are, though.”

Harold said, “So figments exist as figments but not as beings.”

The three Jesus’s looked at one another. Bigfoot Jesus asked, “Was that a statement or a question?”

Harold said, “Sorry, I meant what I said as a question,”

Bigfoot Jesus said, “Oh.”

Harold realized they would just sit there if he didn’t prompt them again. “Will you answer my question, Bigfoot Jesus?”

Bigfoot Jesus asked, “It is not a question that can be answered. Is it our turn to ask questions now?”

Harold sighed and said, “Sure.”

Sasquatch Jesus got excited, “Oh, good. I want to ask the first question. Let’s see … what is your favorite ice cream flavor?”

Harold shook his head. He thought, “Seriously? This is ridiculous.” He realized he was being judgmental, though, and answered, “Strawberry.”

Yeti Jesus and Bigfoot Jesus said, “Oh. Good answer.”

Black Jesus entered the teepee. As he did the floating white light appeared in the center of the teepee and the three figures turned dark. Black Jesus said, “Come on, Harold. I want to introduce you to someone.”

Harold said to Black Jesus, “Where did Bigfoot Jesus, Sasquatch Jesus, and Yeti Jesus go?”

Black Jesus laughed. “What are you talking about?”

Harold said, “Well when White Jesus brought me in here there was a floating white light like there is now, but there were two shadowy figures sitting on the redwood log at the back of the teepee. Then when White Jesus left, the floating light disappeared and the three Jesus’s started glowing. It was weird that there were only two shadow figures but three Jesus’s, now that I think about it. It didn’t strike me at the time.”

Black Jesus said, “Whoa, Harold, slow down. This is the concept teepee. Ideas come to life here.”

Harold said, “But they weren’t my ideas.”

“I never said they were.”

Harold thought about this and then asked. “I asked them if they were figments of people’s imaginations and they said they were.”

Black Jesus said, “Are you sure they said they were figments of people’s imaginations?”

Harold realized they had just said they were figments of imagination. He told this to Black Jesus. Black Jesus responded, “That’s more accurate. Concepts, ideas, figments of imagination, they’re all in the same strata of existence.”

Harold said, “They aren’t beings, though?”

“No. That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”

Harold decided to leave it at that. “So who am I going to meet now?”

Black Jesus said, “You’re not going to meet anyone now. You’re going to meet someone yesterday.”

Harold said, “Oh, yeah. I have trouble remembering that.”

“It’s okay. You’ll get used to it.”

“Will I be in yesterday a long time?”

Black Jesus said, “That’s an incomprehensible question. There’s no answer to it.” Black Jesus smiled and said again, “Come on, let’s go.”

Harold followed Black Jesus out of the teepee.

…

Tune in again … or don’t. Your choice.

Where is Everyone? Two: Triple Jesus

Harold stood dumbstruck. “Are you really here?” He peered into the car and looked at three men dressed in white robes. There was a long-haired white man in the driver’s seat, a black man with dreadlocks in the passenger seat, and an Asian man with long hair pulled into a pony tail in the back seat. The long-haired white man looked just like the Jesus in the picture hanging in Harold’s bedroom. A spitting image. There was a fog of smoke rolling about in the car.

The long-haired white guy rolled down the window and asked, “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you with the windows rolled up and Bob Marley on the MP3.”

Harold shook his head. “Wow, well, I’m Harold. For a second there I thought …”

The long-haired white guy interjected, “You thought I was Jesus, right?” The white guy turned to the black guy and they both started laughing.

Harold laughed a little. He felt like a fool. “Yeah, I guess I did. It’s just, well, you’re the first people I’ve seen since my house burned down yesterday.”

The white guy said, “Dude, your house burned down? That sucks, man. Hey, why don’t you get in back. We’re heading out to the desert. We’ve got a camp set up there.”

Harold said, “Well, okay, but I’ve got some stuff inside the store. You mind if I go grab it?”

“Dude, you’re not going to need it. We got you covered.. The camp’s loaded with goodies. Cool people there, too. You’ll dig ‘em.”

Harold internally debated for a few moments, “I don’t know these guys. They seem okay and they’re the only people I’ve seen since the fire—I sure as hell don’t want to stay here in this wasteland. Plus, they might know why all the people are missing. But, damn, that sure smelled like pot when the driver rolled down the window.” Harold decided to ask them about the disappearance of all the people.

The white guy frowned. “Yeah, that’s a quandary. We’ve been talking about it ourselves. We have a theory, but we don’t know for sure. Come on, get in and we can talk about it.”

Against his better judgment, Harold got into the back seat of the Mustang. Once inside he extended his hand to the Asian fellow. The Asian hippy, as Harold thought of him, smiled widely and gripped his hand. “So, this is a ‘handshake’?”

Harold looked at him a bit puzzled and said, “Yeah. Why, you’ve never shaken anyone’s hand?”

The Asian guy laughed. “No, I’ve ‘shaken hands,’ but I’ve never engaged in a handshake.” Before Harold could speak, the Asian guy said, “Hey, forget about it, man. Here, have a toke.” Harold was handed a large multi-colored glass pipe. He hadn’t smoked pot since he was in high school and had never seen a blown glass pipe. The Asian guy showed him where the carb was and how to use it. The black guy looked into the backseat and winked at the Asian guy, who giggled a little bit and nodded his head up and down as he said, “I know, right?” The man with the dreads nodded his head too and started chuckling as he turned around.

Harold lit the bud in the bowl and inhaled. He let out the carb and a thundercloud of smoke filled his lungs. He held it for a few seconds and then exhaled. The smoke was incredibly smooth. He sat quietly a couple of minutes. He noticed he wasn’t feeling high at all. He turned to the Asian guy and asked, “Um, shouldn’t I be feeling the effects by now?”

“The effects of what?”

“Of the smoke?”

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s not that type of smoke, man.”

Harold thought that was weird. He was about to ask what he had just smoked, but he noticed that there were no other cars on the road. “Hey, do you guys know what happened, why there are no cars or people anywhere?”

The three guys swiveled their respective heads with quizzical looks on their faces. The long-haired white guy turned back to the road and said, “Well, yeah, we do. It’s a long story, though. Do you want to hear it?”

Harold said, “Yes, it’s been disturbing me ever since my house burned down. My daughter died in the fire and I wasn’t able to call the fire department and there were no neighbors anywhere.  There was no one in Wal-Mart, either. You three are the only people I’ve seen except for two dead guys in a convenience store.” There was a palpable silence for half a minute before Harold said, “So, do you know what happened?”

The white guy said, “Well, yeah, that’s all part of the long story. Do you want to hear it?”

Harold wondered if the guy was stoned. He’d just said yes. He shook his head and answered, “Yes.”

“Okay, cool. Well—hey, turn down the music for a sec … there, cool. Um, okay I’ll start with the part that will freak you out, the part that made you freak out when you saw us in the car.”

Harold said, “Okay.”

The Asian guy whispered to Harold, “This is going to blow your mind, man.”

Harold looked at the Asian guy. He was getting ready to light the pipe again. He had a big smile on his face.

The white guy continued, “First of all, my name is Jesus. My black friend here is named … Jesus. Our Asian buddy is named … Jesus. We’re the Sons of God.”

Harold felt like he should be disturbed, but he wasn’t. He felt different and he wondered if it was from the smoke. He wasn’t high, though. Just different.

The white guy continued. “Under normal circumstances, you’d probably think I was crazy for saying that which is why we created unusual circumstances so you’d find it a bit easier to swallow. Any questions so far?”

Harold was too confused to form any questions.

White Jesus looked at Black Jesus and each of them shrugged. Black Jesus started talking, “See, what Jesus is saying is that your consciousness was not in the sort of place that could adequately perceive us as we are. You’ve got a lot of silly notions about Jesus, as if Jesus is 'one' guy. No, there are a lot of Jesus’s.”

Harold thought to himself, “Well, yeah, I work with a guy named Jesus, but we pronounce his name ‘hay-zoos.’ He’s a Mexican immigrant, not the son of God.”

Asian Jesus turned to Harold and said, “See, even under these circumstances you’re doubting. You’re ‘Doubting Harold.’ You have a picture of White Jesus on your bedroom wall and you think that’s the only Jesus because of that. Well, that and the New Testament stories. See, there are a lot of us. Most people pray to White Jesus and, frankly, White Jesus has been laughing his ass off. I, on the other hand, am a little pissed off. Even Black Jesus gets a little attention, but me? Bubkis. No one prays to Asian Jesus.”

White Jesus and Black Jesus started laughing. Asian Jesus started laughing, too. White Jesus said, “Don’t listen to him, man, he’s just fucking with you. He’s not getting pissed; he loves you, Dude. We all love you. That’s what we do, man. We love.”

They drove in silence for about 15 minutes. White Jesus seemed to know where he was going as this was the same way Harold would have driven to leave the city. Harold noticed they were now on the edge of the metro area, almost past the last suburb. White Jesus turned onto an onramp. They were going to be heading west on the Interstate, straight out into the desert.

Harold spoke up. “So, you still haven’t told me what happened to all the people.”

White Jesus said, “Oh, yeah! Sorry, man. I spaced out there for a bit. It’s fun driving, you know?”

Harold responded, “Yeah, I suppose with no other cars on the road it’s pretty cool.”

“No, it’s not that. This is the first time I’ve ever driven a car. Which brings me back to the story.” Jesus grabbed a can of Coca-Cola from the cupholder and took a swig. “How do you drink this shit? It’s fucking pure sugar! Ugh.”

Harold didn’t drink soda, but he decided not to mention it. He asked White Jesus, “Aren’t you omniscient and omnipotent?”

White Jesus put the can back in the cupholder and set the cruise control. “No, Harold, I’m not. Black Jesus is, though.” There was a brief silence and then the three Jesus’s started laughing hysterically. White Jesus said, “No, no, no, I’m just fucking with you. No, the truth is that none of us are omniscient or omnipotent.”

“I thought you were God.”

Black Jesus said, “We’re sons of God.”

Harold responded, “What about the Trinity? You know, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit are all one.”

Asian Jesus hung his head and said, “That’s one of the things we’re here to resolve. A huge misunderstanding. Huge.”

Harold said, “So you don’t know what I’m thinking?”

Black Jesus turned to Harold and said, “We’re not fucking Santa Claus, we don’t know if you’ve been naughty or nice. That shit’s up to you. You’re a grown man. Be responsible for your own shit, huh? What, you’re going to be good if God’s watching, but you’d be a dick if there was no God?” Black Jesus raised his eyebrows and shrugged his shoulders. “It’s all on you, man. It’s up to each person to be what they’re going to be. You don’t get a treat for being good and a hot poker in the ass if you’re not. The rewards for being honorable are evident if you’re honorable; the punishments for being deceitful are experienced in this life whether you realize it or not. Your consciousness either expands or contracts, either remains balanced or becomes imbalanced. Your capacity to feel love grows or shrinks accordingly. Your potential for fulfillment is conditional as well. No more hocus-pocus, okay?”

Harold nodded his head. There was a lot to digest, a lot to consider and reconsider. He noticed that Jesus was slowing down. There was no exit ramp, though. Jesus pulled off on the shoulder of the road and stopped.

“We’ll walk from here.”

Harold shook his head and said, “What? Why aren’t we driving to your camp?”

Black Jesus said, “There are no roads to our camp. We have to walk. Forty days and forty nights.”

Harold gulped.

Black Jesus laughed, “No man, I’m just playing with you. It’s about an hour’s walk and then Arab Jesus will pick us up.”

Harold asked, “How many Jesus’s are there?”

Asian Jesus said, “Whoa, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. White Jesus, you were telling the story, man. Keep going.” White Jesus grabbed a backpack and handed Harold a canteen. Harold drank from it and handed it back.

“Wow, that’s the purest water I’ve ever tasted.”

White Jesus said, “Straight from a mountain spring, brother. Straight from a spring. None of that plastic bottle shit you’ve been calling water.” Jesus took the canteen from Harold and drank from it. “Ah, that’s good. You’ll live a long time if you drink water like this. You won’t get cancer, heart disease, or diabetes. You’d be surprised at how many toxins are in your water. Your water is really acidic as well. Water should be more heavily alkaline, but that’s a discussion for another day. You have much to learn, grasshopper.” White Jesus patted Harold on the back, “Much to learn.”

Once they all had their gear, Harold and the three Jesus’s walked into the desert. White Jesus spoke, “Back to the story. You were asking where all the people are. That’s a bit complicated and you may have trouble believing what I’m about to tell you. I don’t expect you to simply accept what I have on faith nor would I encourage you to do so. I know that might come as a bit of a surprise because you’ve been told having faith is important. It’s not.”

Harold considered what White Jesus was saying. “Up is down,” thought Harold.

White Jesus continued. “We knew about your house burning down before you told us. We may not be omniscient, but we’re able to know more than you could possibly imagine. Omniscience is not a possibility because knowledge is a concoction in the first place. ‘To know’ does not mean quite as much as you think it does. Understanding, on the other hand, is much more important. If there was a word for ‘understanding everything’ then you could apply it to each of us. We don’t know everything, but we understand everything.”

Harold wondered how it was possible to understand something that wasn’t known. He was about to ask, but White Jesus continued.

“Knowledge is a human creation. Don’t get me wrong, I’m human … but that’s just an aspect or, really, a manifestation of my being. Understanding transcends humanity, but not being. Understanding corresponds exactly to being. Everything is understood because everything is. If everything wasn’t then understanding wouldn’t be. See what I’m saying?”

“No.” Harold was more confused than ever and wondered what this had to do with people disappearing.

“Okay. We knew your house burned down, we knew your daughter died, we knew you could find no one to help you, we knew you wandered the streets knocking on doors without any answer, we knew you were flummoxed by the absence of cars and people, and we knew you spent the night in Wal-Mart.”

Black Jesus interjected, “You looked damn good in that pink lingerie, too.” The three Jesus’s laughed.

Harold felt his face turning red. He was deeply embarrassed.

Asian Jesus said, “Hey, no worries, Harold. We chose to appear to you precisely because of those moments. You were playing and having fun. You took a break from worrying about the rest of the world and lived. It was awesome!” The other Jesus’s nodded their heads and smiled.

White Jesus continued, “We know all those things as humans. We understand those things as beings. I don’t want you to get hung up on that, though. I know your biggest concern is for your daughter. Yes, she died, but she was fulfilling a purpose she had created for herself. She lit the house on fire, blowing herself up in the process, so that you could free your mind. She’s dead, yes, but only as a human. She lives on as a being just as all beings live on and on eternally, manifesting in differing forms throughout existence, an existence that will never end. I understand that is what is. I don’t know it, but I understand it.”

Harold shook his head, tried to clear his thoughts as they continued walking by sage brush, cactus, and the occasional mesquite tree. “So … where is my daughter now?”

Asian Jesus spoke up. “She isn’t a ‘she’ any more. The being who took the form of your daughter exists, but your daughter does not. Your daughter is … how should I put this? Black Jesus?”

“The being who was your daughter, who was a woman, now is as a being that cannot be defined or categorized by language. Even the word ‘being’ is a misrepresentation, but it’s got the least baggage attached to it. Being implies ‘is’ and while what your daughter was ‘is not,’ the being that manifested itself as your daughter ‘is.’”

White Jesus jumped into the fray and said, “I know you’re going to ask ‘where is the being that manifested as my daughter?’ The best I can do is to say that ‘being is.’ It’s not a terribly satisfying answer for a human, but the good news is that you won’t always be human. A being can choose to manifest in pretty much any possible way, but that manifestation will be in a way that can’t understand being because while the manifestation is it is not being as being is. Damn, it’s hard to use language to explain what is.”

Black Jesus countered, “It’s impossible. Harold’s just getting more and more confused.”

Asian Jesus took a stab. “Okay, in human terms, your daughter died so that you could realize what you are. She didn’t make a sacrifice; that would imply she lost something. No, she gained by doing what she did. Never mind how; suffice it to say she took a step toward being a being. I’m saying this in a human way and words such as ‘toward’ imply a spatiotemporal context that has nothing to do with being.”

Harold’s head was swimming. Asian Jesus pulled out the pipe and a lighter. He took a puff and handed it to Harold.

Harold took it, but before he lit it he asked, “If this isn’t pot, what is it?”

Asian Jesus threw his head back. “Aaaaaaugh! Man, that’s even harder to explain. Let’s just say that the smoke has properties that enhance your ability to understand. It sort of cuts through being human and opens up the mind to the possibility of being.”

Harold asked, “Is the mind part of eternal being?”

Black Jesus answered, “No. Asian Jesus is being really loose with his language, trying to ‘talk human,’ so to speak. Mind is a just a way of saying consciousness or awareness, but it’s more than that, too. It’s not something that’s ‘real’ for humans. It’s not ‘real’ for beings either, but it is used for various purposes.”

Harold asked, “How could something that isn’t real be used at all?”

“Are analogies ‘real’?” asked White Jesus.

Harold didn’t know how to answer.

White Jesus said, “That’s what I thought … get it? No? Never mind.” White Jesus handed the canteen to Harold. He stopped walking and took a drink. He handed the canteen back to White Jesus who said, “I don’t think we can explain much more about your daughter, not right now, anyway. However, you were also wondering about where all the people went, right?”

Harold nodded yes.

White Jesus said, “Um, this is difficult to explain as well. The being manifesting as your daughter shifted time when she blew up the house because of the way she set her intentions. Your daughter was a human who had discovered that she was only a manifestation of her being. Even after she discovered that, she didn’t know what it meant, but she did glimpse understanding and that glimpse allowed her to purposefully act in a way that shifted time so that you might have a chance, as a human, to understand that you are a being manifested as a human. Understanding that as a human does not give you access, so to speak, to being a being, but at least you know that you’re humanness is a temporary and, in the scheme of things, rather inconsequential phenomenon. In other words, your daughter was giving you the chance to take yourself less seriously … as a human.”

Harold pondered these words. The three Jesus’s remained silent, giving Harold some thinking space. Harold looked at the foothills in the distance and remained focused on them except for occasional glances at the ground to make sure he wasn’t stepping on a cactus or into a hole. By focusing his eyes on the foothills, an unchanging vision ahead of him, he was able to think more deeply. Something within him shifted. He could feel it. His worry and sadness about his daughter was dissipating. His anxieties about the disappearance of people were gradually lessening.

As Harold was thinking and discovering and freeing himself from certain shackles, Asian Jesus handed Harold the pipe. Harold lit it and inhaled the smoke. He held it in for a few seconds and exhaled. He sighed deeply and handed the pipe back to Asian Jesus. Harold’s mind felt even clearer than it had been.

Asian Jesus said to the other Jesus’s, “I think our friend is beginning to let go. He’s exhibiting signs of peace.”

Black Jesus and White Jesus looked at Harold. They smiled and nodded yes. They turned their heads back to look ahead of them as they continued walking.

The day was surprisingly warm. It had begun so cold, but out in the desert the sun was deliciously warming. There was just the faintest of breezes. There were butterflies fluttering past now and then. Occasionally, Harold saw a lizard scrambling for safety. When they passed Mesquite and Palo Verde trees, usually in the shallow washes, Harold saw birds’ nests. He could hear birds chirping, too, and occasionally saw one flying up above.

But mostly Harold focused on the foot hills. He liked the jagged dark red-brown peaks juxtaposed against the blue sky. There was no smog out here, they were far enough away from the city and they were also upwind of it. His mind was pleasantly blank.

White Jesus said, “I know you’re enjoying yourself, Harold, and I am glad. I want you to understand, to the degree you are able, what your daughter did when she shifted time. I cannot explain how she shifted time because you won’t be able to understand. What I can tell you is that time shifted in such a way that you are now living a day behind everyone else. The reason no one is around is because they are today. You are yesterday. It’s a time/space thing and, as such, it doesn’t exist as it is, but it causes what you know, but don’t understand, as your perception to be as it is. The smoke you’ve been inhaling is helping somewhat, but only to a small degree. That’s all that’s possible for you … ‘right now.’ That’s human speak for something that cannot be understood as a human.”

Harold was flummoxed. “I want to focus on the time shift thing. My daughter shifted time so that I would be able to understand that my existence as a human is a manifestation of my being rather than my actual being?”

Black Jesus said, “Yes … in a way.”

Harold continued, “And the time shift occurred in such a way that I exist yesterday while everyone else exists … today?”

Asian Jesus responded, “Yes … in a way. But let me add that you, the human you, also exists today. There is a manifestation of you as human that is living today while you as human here with us is living yesterday. ‘Today’ you knows nothing about ‘yesterday’ you.”

Harold quickly asked, “But if that’s the case, then what does ‘today me’ think about … yesterday.”

White Jesus responded, “What you call ‘today you’ has a memory of the previous day that is not at all like what you are experiencing yesterday.”

Harold said, “I think I understand what you mean and I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t had I not been smoking whatever it is that I’ve been smoking.”

Asian Jesus said, “It’s a substance that doesn’t exist for ‘today humans.’ It can only be smoked yesterday.”

Harold smiled. “That makes perfect sense.”

The three Jesus’s looked at one another and then at Harold. They stopped and smiled at Harold. Harold could see a glowing light surrounding each of them. He dropped to his knees in awe.

White Jesus laughed. “Hey, come on, Harold, we’ve got more walking to do. We’re all glad to see that you’re beginning to see, though.”

They continued walking for another 15 minutes. When they climbed up a bank out of a deeper wash, there was an old Chevy Blazer up ahead of them. It was jacked way up; Harold figured it must have had a four-inch lift kit. As they walked over, Harold saw an Arab woman dressed in a white robe. She had long black hair and her fingernails were painted pastel pink.

White Jesus turned to Harold and said, “I’d like you to meet Arab Jesus.” Arab Jesus extended her hand to Harold and they shook.

Harold was in a mild state of confusion. Black Jesus saw this and said, “Yes, Harold, Arab Jesus is a woman. Try not to think in terms of sexual or gender identity. It’ll make things easier for you. Remember, we’re all just manifestations of being. That’s not just true today; it’s also true yesterday.”

Harold asked, “Is there a tomorrow?”

Arab Jesus laughed, “Oh, you have been having that conversation. Very good. Very, very good. Come, get into the Blazer and I’ll drive you to camp."

…

See you next time. Same Bat-time, same Bat-channel