Part III
The Aftermath
Morning dawned and Scorto, responding to a faint knock upon the door, opened it to the knocker, who proved to be the Transient. But before he could inquire of his wasteful business, the Transient gasped, "Scorto, you look like a cadaver just risen from the dead!"
"And so I am," responded Scorto with a ghastly grin, and as if to emphasize his adjudged condition, "but dead among the living dead, as now I view the world."
The Transient eyed him impatiently, edging nearer to the half-opened door as he spoke. "Tell me more, Scorto, but permit me the comfort of your sepulchre, that I may better enjoy the dreadful details of your untimely demise."
But Scorto stalled him in the entrance way, and giving sign of his reluctance for further parley, slowly shut the door behind him, and stepped outward as if oblivious to the Transient's presence. The Transient took the hint, and without waiting to be brushed aside, turned and disappeared, nursing his wounded pride. While Scorto, in a solemn mood, turned instinctively in the direction of the past day's trek to scour the by-ways for some stray or lingering aspect of the Revelation which lay upon his memory like the bits and pieces of a shattered dream.
Street by street he retraced his steps; the antennas of his mind this way, that way, probing: where, intercepting a passing Breeze: a meandering Fragrance, a soft Humm, rustling among the wind-blown trees, he inquired if any may have been upon the primal Scene when first he passed this way. But all responded with an indifferent "Nay," and in a tone so commonplace and brusk that he argued not their say lest they chide or shame him for his strange behavior. And "Nay": again he heard from the leafy Boughs that brushed his face as he passed along the way, and from the Shrubs whose untended growth extended across his path. He seemed a haunted beast scouring the brush and forest for his missing mate. Mid stifled tears, he called but called in vain, his Voice like Voice in Voice, crying out to Infinity, "Scor-r-r-rto-o-o-o, Scor-r-r-rto-o-o." 'Twas like the uttered sufferings of the imprisoned soul abandoned in the limbo of mortal desolation.
With day departed, he slackened his pace lest he miss a crucial witness in his haste. And here and there hesitating, to inquire of the Twilight Shadows whose ghostly forms began emerging like owls on their nightly prowl, then to quiz the Shades of Night and the Lunar Light as they chased the Twilight Shadows, and conspired to distort the landscape with their own ghostly patterns; all eyed him with doubt and suspicion and gestured their ignorance of the alleged Revelation. Aghast at their indifference and their sly and thinly-veiled inferences that accused him of delusion, Scorto dropped his head like the discredited witness in a courtroom drama, and discreetly withdrew to the alley-ways of Perdition; for the joy that was, was now his sorrow, as his Innocence, by Guilt was overpowered.
Night became his brooding mate, and Solitude his slave-companion of the day; and all about him were strewn the husks of Seasons past that overlooked him as Nature changed her dress and went unnoticed, so indifferent became his mood. The sun, the Moon, the Stars, no more had chanced upon him as they had before. Nor was Time ever more indifferent to the plight of one whose days were wasting, while he pondered which way to turn or to whom to counsel that would, or could deny or confirm the Revelation.
And like the Indian whose ear is nestled to the ground, to probe it for the wished-for sounds, so Scorto in his sorry plight, grasped a muted Echo as she passed in flight, and whispered a cryptic message in her ear, dispatched her through the air to scour the dregs of social Earth, to seek a contemporary mired in the self-same plight, "Oh wretched sons of second birth, scattered throughout this dismal Earth, and who mourn in silence and despair; here, upon her bier like death, She lies, despised, dishonored and defiled, but in Her eyes burn bright the embers that ever yearn to be remembered. Is Her Cause beyond retrieving, Oh wretched sons of mortal birth, whose Light was kindled in Her eyes? Dead She is, but living still and Time is to mourn no more, but to rally round Her and revive Her fame, on some friendly shore, where freedom reigns."
Having said, he hied him to a secret place deep within a Canyon's base, to wait the Echo's sure return, heavy-laden with illustrious names-names intoning their unjust bereavement.
A heavy silence settled over the Canyon's bounds, like the proverbial hush that precedes the storm, while Scorto impatiently paced its earthen floor, his ear alerted to its faintest sounds. A raucous clatter suddenly the silence shattered, and Scorto's eye swiftly swept the Canyon round to see what rock slide might be tumbling down its sides, but seeing none, his eye shifted to the sky, where not too distant from the Canyon's height he espied the returning Echo hurtling through the air like a burnt-out meteor, in willful violation of her gravitational tie and overburdened with a load of holy symbols that read like relics of the dead and dying past. And as nearer she approached, voices of every description from her transmitters broke, albeit, all confused and contradictory in their declarations. Plunging into the mouth of the gaping Canyon like an exhausted Bird of Prey struggling with a crippled pinion, she struck the Earth with a roar that stunned his senses and sent shudders of fear racing up and down the Canyon's floor, and came to rest aside a thicket of unsightly weeds and poison ivy that seemed to characterize the blasphemes and diatribes pouring from her distorted semblance.
'Twas as though she had overflown some hellish site, where misery and fright were rampant, and where all the sins of Man are bemoaned and denounced by authoritative voices professing some sort of heavenly appointment. But these were not the voices he intended to attract, for clearly none seemed privy to the Text recorded on the Echo's sound track. But even as he listened to the harsh and varied pitches steeped in the fallacies of culture and tradition, he detected an harmonious Voice, albeit faint and indistinct, intermittently faltering through the vain and abrasive orations. Scorto wavered in his thoughts, as the Echo painfully endeavored to throttle the voices of discord and despair, and clear the way for the harmonious Voice to assert itself; and out it came, a chorus of Voices congealed into one harmonious Refrain: Moses, Paul, Mohammed, Zoroaster, Swedenborg, Buddha, Bahaullah, and many more of equal fame, bringing a smile to Scorto's face and relief to the Echo from her blameless disgrace. But even as his joy increased at hearing the harmonious Voice of these long-deceased, his elation to depression turned when the Voice sputtered, sighed, and like a dying whisper, too faint and feeble to compete with blasphemes and diatribes, lapsed into utter silence, though not to breathe her last.
And thus he mused, even as he brooded over these Innocent Ones who bore the burden of Religion's baneful yoke. "Could I believe Creation to be so inconsiderate and delinquent in the scattering of His Seed that none should fall but in the shadows of these sterile Sacristies? And must I believe that those who pine in the morbid clime of Religion's captivity, that these and these alone were selected for succession to the cosmic Mind?"
'Twas the darkest hour of Scorto's sorrow; yet the brightest in his day-long strife, and thus he mused-"The hour is ripe to advance the Cause of the manifest Christ, who returned, and returned, but was spurned and derided, and returns and returns, yet is scorned and despised; returns and returns, but is taunted and tried by envious men in holy attire; returned and returned, but is betrayed, defiled and decried by self-styled 'seers,' 'healers,' 'prophets' and 'infallible' despots; returns and returns, but has no voice in the world, no influence in the Temple and institutions of Learning. Like a common criminal He slinks about, gauging the tenor of Religion's strength, the political climate, and the public's bent."
Imposters claim Him, and in Him deceive the soul and misguide the world.
The sweat was pouring down Scorto's face as he turned and fled the Canyon's base; and what he mused, the Psyche had refused and spewed it out like bitter gruel, and skidding as it struck the Canyon floor, friction brought it to a fire which fed on brittle leaves and grasses, and as the spreading fire began to crackle, it vocalized his secret thoughts and roaring to the Canyon's height was intercepted by an Echo fleeing from the site; and overland she flew, repeating what she knew and all who heard her raged and ranted like proud and pompous boobs, who threatened to destroy her for her impious views.
As Scorto reached the Canyon's height, he turned to view the burning site; but gasped in horror as his eye espied a transient Figure in the fire and shouting "Scorto, Scorto!" while gasping for some breath, like a man in the throes of death. Scorto reached across the Gulf of Fear to grasp the Transient by the hand, but as he reached into the fire, the flames receded and his fear expired. Without assist, the Transient succeeded to the Canyon's height and set himself like wasting Courage, at Scorto's side.
The two conferred like conspirators bent on overturning Rome, the seat of history's most infamous betrayal.
The Transient spoke first, but spoke in muted tones, lest an idle Echo, feigning innocence, record the conversation and trade it off for a free pass to the moon or to some enchanted isle, not unlike holy-robed hypocrites, who sell their soul for power and for gold.
"Scorto," the Transient began, "your utterances are sound, sound as the hide in which we both are bound, but what you say without proof, is like pain without remedy, that needs be borne in silence and without complaint."
Scorto listened with intent, then countered him with this argument: "Pal, my proof is more than with myself, and if the courage you displayed when Fear engulfed you in its flame, I will unfold a tale of murder and betrayal that will decimate your doubts, if such doubts exist, but as I read you, Pal, 'tis your courage and not your doubts that constrains your inclination."
Chafing at the bit, while wrestling with his wit, to counter Scorto's demeaning stint, he heaved a lengthy sigh that burst the bounds of common pride, and thus replied: "Scorto, my infirmities are many and my shortcomings without number, but my courage is not among them; my care is to spare you the despair that is sure to accrue to you in such a frightful undertaking. And, mind you, my courage will persist, but more than courage will be needed to expose the Betrayal and the perpetrators of the vile deed."
Scorto nodded in agreement, more pleased than disturbed by the Transient's dissertation.
"Pal," he retorted, "with much of what you say, I most heartily agree, yet to attempt to spare me such despair is to deprive me of the air I breathe, for human elevation is oft-times owed to the pitiless spurs of Desperation. And of what value is man's riches if its worth is dissipated in idle dreams and sterile wishes? And if Virtue remains mute, who is to counter, or dispute fallacies and notions that distract the soul?"
The Transient nodded his head as one assured, and said no more, but gave way to Scorto, who seemed most eager to pursue his discourse.
"Pal," continued Scorto, "somewhere in the dim historic of human development, when the ripening human intellect was beginning to crest, a new Intelligence burst upon the Earth, bearing the seed, the blossom and the fruit of universal and eternal Truth. And for want of a name to give it identity, Plato who embodied it, personified it Socrates. And as She, this new Intelligence evolved upon the Earth, She moved from place to place blindly manifesting Herself in the minds of men, among whom were Paul and Augustus who identified it the Christ."
"Scorto, Scorto!" interrupted the Transient, excitedly, "you mean . . ." "Precisely, Pal," continued Scorto, "one and the same manifestation, Socrates and the Christ."
"And you mean..." interrupted the Transient again.
"I read you, Pal," continued Scorto, "I mean neither walked the face of Earth in flesh and bones he called His own, since either is but the essence of the divine Mind which overtook and embodied Himself in the mind of men; Plato, Aristotle, Plutarch, Paul, Augustus and many, many more."
"And Scorto, then neither Socrates nor Christ left a written word, for what either writ was writ through the pen of..."
"Precisely, Pal. Through the guided pen of mortal men-Plato, Paul, Augustus and..."
"And as you say, Scorto, the Word was made flesh i.e., Plato, Augustus and the rest."
"Precisely, Pal."
"But this new Intelligence, Scorto, is She living, is She dead, and must we mortals hark back to the multiplying centuries of the dead past, to glean some knowledge of our destiny?"
"Dead She is, Pal, but living still; but Fate dealt Her a foul blow."
"Like what, Scorto..."
"Betrayed, Pal. She got sucked in by envious men in holy attire."
"She-you mean the new Intelligence, the Christ, was betrayed?"
"Precisely, Pal, betrayed, murdered, self-destroyed, forced into exile."
"A brutal fate, Scorto, for one so magnificent, and for the Innocent Ones who espoused Her concept and ideals.
"But how did this come about, Scorto? How did this Christ, this new Intelligence, get sucked into the Religious stream, and be made to suffer destruction? And these Innocent Ones, who embodied Her, why were they so maligned instead of receiving praise as the Forerunners of this new Intelligence?"
"The beginnings of this oncoming new Intelligence is obscured, Pal, since She predates recorded history, or for that matter, human history. But history records Her rise to eminence in the Temple, the institutions of Learning, and the forums of Government of ancient Greece, where She held sway as the renown Socrates. But as history records it, Pal, Socrates took the bottle, self-destroyed, meaning that Plato and others who embodied Him were silenced, since, what Socrates voiced ran counter to the established Religious and civil authority and endangered their power and influence."
"Such bestiality and imbecility, Scorto, and all for the love of power and influence! What then happened to Socrates and those Innocent Ones who embodied Him?"
"Those Innocent Ones, Pal, were exiled, and became like wanderers on the face of Earth."
"And Socrates, Scorto, that is, this new Intelligence, what became of Him in light of your remark, 'Dead she is, but living still'?"
"Pal, though Her voice was muted and no longer heard in the mainstream of life, She resorted to the pen, giving an account of Herself in prose and poetry, while patiently waiting for an opportune time to reassert Herself in the mainstream."
The Transient shook his head in dismay and unbelief, and murmured, "A sad end to a magnificent beginning."
Scorto retorted, "Not the end, Pal, nor the beginning; for history was repeating itself, and was again to repeat itself."
"Again, Scorto?"
"Again, Pal, like misery's contagion."
"And where did history repeat itself, Scorto?" inquired the Transient with a knowing look.
"After a long spell of silence this new Intelligence, the manifest Christ, made Her appearance in the Roman empire, where these Innocent Ones who embodied Her genius, found favor with the populace, and with the established Religious and Civil authority who worked in close cooperation with these Innocent Ones to advance the Cause of the manifest Christ."
"And all went well, Scorto?"
"For but a little while, Pal."
"And Rome rose to the glory and greatness that once was ancient Greece's, under the guiding genius of Socrates, or the Christ, such as they knew Her then, or the Cosmic intellect, such as we might know Her today."
"Precisely, Pal."
"As I see it then, Scorto, Religion and these Innocent Ones who embodied the Cosmic intellect or the Christ were like shipmates, steering the ship for the common good."
"You're reading it right, Pal, and the populace and the Nation thrived that is, until the Religious authority began getting uncomfortable over the growing stature and popularity of these Innocent Ones, while their's was declining."
"And things got worse, Scorto, when the Religious authority began to hurt in the pocketbook, along with the decline of her power and influence."
"Precisely, Pal, but keep in mind, Pal, that the Religious authority was already on the inside of a highly-respected and trusting Movement, which gave her the advantage of the Trojan horse. That is, to undermine the Movement from the inside."
"And she, the Religious authority, used her advantage, Scorto."
"To the fullest, Pal, and to the destruction of the Cosmic intellect."
"Then, Scorto, God is-or rather, the Cosmic intellect, is dead."
"I reiterate, Pal, dead She is, but living still."
"Such treachery, Scorto, and all for the love of power and influence."
"And for gold, Pal, gold."
"Scorto, your phrase of 'dead She is, but living still,' with reference to the Cosmic intellect, or the Christ, is of some significance, and were I less privy of its contents, the human intellect I wear could hardly be expected to comprehend matters of such transcendent scope. So therefore I urge you to define it in terms appropriate to the moral mind."
"Pal, the intellect you're wearing is an instrument that both imparts and is victimized by guile, and what you urge me, if I read you right, is not the need to define but to substantiate the charges I herein outline, and in terms so elementary as would provoke the scholarly mind to render aid in this Cause divine."
"Scorto, you read me like the shadow that reads and delineates the Figure it companions, and more to open wide the way for your uncensored Essay, I will refrain from any future say; yet to remain nearest to your side, to urge you on with encouraging words."
"Pal, you cheer me like the crowd that cheers the bull that gores the Matador, but inasmuch as we're in this together, your chatter and not your silence, would better serve to expose the Matter."
"Scorto, your sentiments are most admirable, and I feel a sympathy for you, like the worm that feels a sympathy for the starving bird. But to the end that your aims might be achieved expeditiously, I will accede to your suggestion and suggest, in turn, you keep nearest to the line of persuasive Argument and let not your temperament deflect you from our targeted aim-though I try your patience with my repetitious questions. Tell me once again, Scorto, what happened after when Socrates took the bottle and these Innocent Ones who embodied Him, were driven into exile?"
"As already I have stated, Pal, these Innocent Ones laid low, laid low for a good long time, waiting for the heat to simmer down; but the Religious authority and the Crown never let up."
"And that, Scorto, was the beginning of the end of the glory and greatness that once was ancient Greece's. And from which she has never yet recovered."
"Right, Pal, and leaving these Innocent Ones without a public forum from which to espouse Socrates."
"A bane upon the human race, Scorto, for such unbelieving stupidity, for to mute the Voice of Socrates was to mute the Voice of Creation."
"Pal, a greater disgrace can only be equaled, but not exceeded."
"And these Innocent Ones, Scorto, whose only crime was to espouse the concepts and ideals imparted to them by the Cosmic intellect, who were they?"
Scorto shyly turned away his face, his eyes staring blankly into space, and glumly, like a man shamefully embarrassed and in a voice barely audible sought to satisfy the Transient's burning question. "Pal, history assisted by the manipulations of Religion and the Crown, has to some extent, obscured the identity of these Innocent Ones, but Time and scholarly minds will, in due course, engrave their names on tablets of enduring fame. But if your desire to know holds fast against the stresses of your impatience, I will divulge a scant few, with positive proof that will stand as steadfast against the scoffings of Religion and of Science, as the giant redwoods against the raging tempest."
"Scorto, your confidence uplifts me like the risen sun that zaps the morning mist, to bring relief to the crawling motorist. Lead me on to the knowledge of the manifest Christ whose life was sacrificed, and to the Innocent Ones whose knowledge of Him is squandered and wasted like the Riches of Nature neath the grasping hands of greedy men who pollute and deface her pristine features, for the love of lucre, and so defraud their own offsprings of a share in her fair beauty."
"Pal," exclaimed Scorto, "by accident or design your comparatives stress the matter even more forcibly than I, myself, can emphasize, but keep mum awhile, Pal, and let your ear hang on my every word, shifting neither to the left nor right, in answer to the frantic tuggings of your past delusions on the matter of the manifest Christ, mankind's richest Legacy."
"Scorto, refresh my memory before venturing out among the intellectual decrepits who for too long now have beguiled the world-again, who was Socrates? And why did He take the bottle? And make it brief, so as not to unduly stall your timely project."
"Socrates, Pal, who had no flesh and bones He called his own, was but the personification of the new Intelligence now converging upon the ripening human intellect. And the manifestation of this new Intelligence is the mind of such literary notables as Plato, Plutarch, Aristotle and some few others of their generations, is the sole causation of their genius and making for the enduring fame of their literature."
"And, Scorto, if Socrates was the Source of their genius and the Source of the absolute concepts they espoused, why was He forced to take the bottle?"
"Pal, these Concepts ran counter to the concoctions of the human intellect with which the Religious and Civil authority governed, hence, their hostility and opposition and His self-imposed silence or self-destruction."
"And again, Scorto, that small band of Innocent Ones who embodied Socrates and gave Voice to His Concepts and ideals, and who brought Him to eminence in the Temple, the institutions of Learning, and the forums of Government-what happened to them?"
"All banished from the Grecian shores, Pal, and nothing more heard of Socrates, the New Intelligence, until Her appearance on the shores of Italy and the Roman empire."
"Meaning, Scorto, that this new Intelligence, which made for the genius of Plato, Aristotle, Plutarch and some few others not yet identified, was on an evolutionary course?"
"Precisely, Pal, and She's still on the move, with more and more succeeding to Her magnificent Estate."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"Getting back to the birth, or the emergence of this Cosmic intellect in the Roman empire, what sort of identification did they give Her, inasmuch as Socrates had long since taken the bottle and was no longer visible in the mainstream?"
"Christ."
"One and the same person, Scorto?"
"Not one and the same person, Pal. One and the same Entity, personified. And since She was still new in the world, what better way to metaphorize Her than as an infant?"
"True, Scorto, true. And being metaphorized an infant was one way of indicating that this Cosmic intellect was still new in the world."
"Precisely, Pal, and being new in the world, She was like a Voice crying in the wilderness of ignorance, superstition and suspicion."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"Things ain't changed much, of what I read and hear in priestly, rabbinical and ministerial prattle that still defends and propagates notions of exclusivity, chosen status and privileged destiny."
"True, Pal, true, but everything has its season."
"And the cosmic intellect, or the Christ, will have Hers, Scorto."
"Pal, even as the timetables of Creation had its set date for the emergence of the human intellect, so, too, is the date set for the virgining Cosmic intellect to explode into Her prime."
"And then all, Scorto, all will be privy to the wisdom and knowledge of the Christ."
"All, Pal, all, and no more to be preyed upon, for there will be neither prey nor predator."
"Speaking of predator, Scorto, when the Christ or the Cosmic intellect made Her appearance in the Roman empire, the Religious authority's initial reaction, as you earlier indicated, was one of friendship and genuine admiration for these Innocent Ones who embodied Him and voiced His perfect Concepts..."
"True, Pal, to the point where the Religious authority embraced the Movement, and made common cause with its aims and objectives."
"Then what occurred, Scorto, that made for the death or disappearance of the Cosmic intellect, or the Christ?"
"Greed and Envy conspired to exert their influence over the Religious authority and she sold out the Movement with trumped-up charges, despite the admonition 'Thou shalt not bear false witness.'"
"Scorto... You mean she bore false witness against the Christ and had Him put to death by forbidding those who embodied Him from espousing His Concepts?"
"Precisely, Pal. Despite the admonition 'Thou shalt not kill.'"
"And, Scorto, another admonition 'Thou shalt not steal,' and she, the Religious authority, stole the perfect Concepts bearing on the soul, immortality, death, paradise and the divine Mind, and then adulterated them to suit her own purposes and ambitions, despite the admonition 'Thou shalt not commit adultery.'"
"Pal, the greatest adulteress the world has ever produced."
"The world's Religious authority, Scorto!"
"Without exception, Pal."
"But this one in particular, who contrived the office of the Papacy in Rome, Scorto; and who, after conspiring the death of the Cosmic intellect or the Christ, and then used the power of her office to bar recognition of these Innocent Ones as they appeared at intervals, is she not to be severely faulted and called to the bar of justice for interfering with the natural rise to eminence of this magnificent Heritage, the Cosmic intellect; and for barring the way of these Innocent Ones whose succession to the Cosmic intellect affords every generation a Continuing-book of Revelation, as like the Torch being handed from Plato to Plutarch, to Aristotle, to Mohammed, to Paul, to Augustus, to Zoroaster, Bahaullah, to Buddha, to Aquinas, to Goethe, to Asissi, to Dante, to Swedenborg, to Balzac, to Blake, to Bacon, to Shelley, to Shakespeare, to Milton, to Keats, to Virgil, to Tennyson, to Poe, to Emerson, to Whitman..." and here he exhaled a sigh, as more than remembrance was needed to record the ever-multiplying Tide, whose Light was kindled in Her eyes.
And as he sighed, the Transient smiled as one who sees an error, lies in wait to pounce upon it even afore the speech abates. Thus the Transient:
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"Scorto, you've jumbled the order of Succession but more than that, you've tread upon a long-cherished notion."
"Pal, the order of Succession as applied to these Innocent Ones bears no relation to the order of succession, applying to the sterile office of the papacy, for the former involves the Succession or transition from the human intellect to the Cosmic intellect from whence the divine Concepts are derived, whereas, in the latter, Succession merely connotes a sequence of persons elevated to a sterile Office where the decrepit human intellect and its concoctions dominate, notwithstanding, the fraudulent claims of divine infallibility. And as for this time-honored notion to which you allude, this needs be spelled out afore it can be dispatched to the ash heap of fallacies and delusions."
"Scorto, you seem to read me, even afore I set my thoughts before you, but lest we err on what the stir is all about, I'll lay it out, then listen while you scissor it to bits."
"Proceed, Pal."
"Scorto, there seems to be a notion among Religion's brokers that suggests a more or less prejudicial trait lurking in the bosom of Creation, in that He imparts His wisdom and knowledge to each of His Elect on a varying scale, more to some and less to others; thus as Religion conceives it, some of His Elect are superior to others."
"Pal, the same error afflicts the Learned who set a standard of literary excellence among these Innocent Ones, based not on what Transcendent knowledge is hidden in the Text, but on meter and rhyme, on the mystical overtones that baffles their comprehension or on its philosophical or sociological bent."
"The genius of each, Scorto, does it, then, differ one from the other of these Innocent Ones?"
"Pal, the manifest Christ makes no distinction from one to the other of His Elect, but imparts wisdom and knowledge to each in like degree so that each agrees with the other on every aspect of the Revelation, no matter how remote in time or geographic distance intervene between them."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"Plato and Emerson, do they complement one another?"
"Right, Pal..."
"Dante and Whitman?"
"You're on the Beam, Pal."
"Assisi and Mohammed?"
"A like-minded pair, and both most adroit at conning the Religious authority and throwing it off the track."
"Swedenborg and Paul?"
"Ditto, Pal."
"Shakespeare, Goethe, Shelley, Balzac, Keats?"
"Like all the rest, none were any more equally set on the plane of the Cosmic intellect, and like all the rest, none were any more precise and positive in the recording of Her universal and eternal Concepts."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"If all these Innocent Ones, some abiding in Religion's captivity and others languishing like corpses in the institutions of higher Learning, if all these Innocent Ones are peers on the plane of the Cosmic intellect, and their Script reads alike on matters of the soul, death, immortality, paradise and the divine and the whole spectrum of Religion, why is it not readily discernible and why have these Innocent Ones been so separated, one from the other, when all should be under the one umbrella of the Cosmic intellect, or Christ, and a public forum provided for them, for the benefit and welfare of mankind?"
"Pal, the reasons are manifold but the answers to your question are encompassed in the context of your inquiry, the human intellect, Pal, is a base decrepit instrument destined for destruction in the Divine scheme of things, for even at its keenest, is an instrument dull and limited in its capacity, she cannot hope to bridge the vast abyss that separates her from the Cosmic intellect, the set and scene of Transcendent wisdom and knowledge. Hence the mortal mind can grasp but feebly the transcendent Script embracing the beauty and magnificence of another world..."
"And, Scorto, if the human intellect cannot grasp the delineations of the Cosmic intellect, what attracts and holds wretched mortality to the likes of such as Paul, Plato, Zoroaster, Swedenborg, Mohammed, Moses, Shakespeare, Dante, Goethe, Whitman and the rest of these illustrious Figures, who stand in, or out, of Religion's captivity?"
"The soul, Pal, the soul sees her own, albeit obscurely, through the brackish materials that becloud the whole, and finds a satisfaction to her hunger. Thus, in part, she sees her Primal self, reflected in the majestic beauty of the Text."
"And the human intellect errs, Scorto? And gets entangled in the thorns and trash, that overlays and masks the sacred Text."
"Precisely, Pal. And as to your second question of 'why these Innocent Ones who embodied Christ have been so separated, one from the other, when all are but the forerunners of the converging Cosmic intellect' . . . the seed of sorrow, Pal, lies in the world''s unawareness, resulting from the death or disappearance of the Cosmic intellect before She had a chance to get off the ground, hence so brief was her public life that knowledge of Her presence in the world dimmed, then completely vanished, when these Innocent Ones, deprived of recognition by a hostile Religious authority, forsook the world."
"And the world lost touch with the Cosmic intellect, Scorto, else it would have caught the significance of a Virgil, a Shakespeare, a Dante, an Emerson, a Whitman and the many, many others as they appear at intervals."
"Precisely, Pal, but more than that. Being unaware of the emergence of the Cosmic intellect into the world, these Learned and the Scholarly could only speculate on the source of the genius of these Innocent Ones, hence the Learned and the Scholarly became more enthralled with the intellectual acumen of these Innocent Ones than with the divine Text which baffles them even now."
"And then, Scorto, these Learned and Scholarly among us, are prone to set these Innocent Ones one above the other, on an arbitrary scale of literary, or poetic excellence in accordance with their own personal and divergent preferences, and around whom they formed a private circle not unlike Religion's Sects."
"True, Pal, true. But more than that, Pal, the Learned and the Scholarly, handicapped by their ignorance of the emerging Cosmic intellect, have served Religion's devious purposes well, by their noninterference in her propitious attitude toward such cosmic Luminaries as Paul, Swedenborg, Zoroaster, Patrick, Assisi, Moses, Mohammed, Bahaullah and numerous others of these Innocent Ones who have fallen into her hands."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"And as these Innocent Ones appearing at intervals, left a written record of their succession to the Cosmic intellect, and the Revelation flowing from Her, their literature was categorized either a 'classic' if it fell into the hands of the Learned and the Scholarly, or a 'sacred book' if it fell into the hands of the various Religious authority."
"True, Pal, true. But some of the Religious authority who had long since adopted one of these Innocent Ones and made of him their God, could not, with due respect to Gods, allow another of these Innocent Ones to share equal billing."
"And so, Scorto?"
"So they dropped him down a Notch or two, and made reference to him as a 'minor prophet,' a 'saint,' or a 'demi-God.'"
"And, Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"And if neither the Learned and the Scholarly or the Religious authority was quick enough to act, what then becomes of the transcendent literature or these Innocent Ones?"
"Pal, as earlier mentioned, the soul hungers and little escapes her discerning eye, and when she sees herself mirrored in the pages of some dust-covered Volume, that has not yet made it to the 'classics,' or 'sacred book' category, she feasts upon it, and in due course, this Volume will find its way into either category, and, presto, begins another Private circle, or another Sect."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"Are there some who have found a place in either category, though devoid of any common bond with these Innocent Ones whose wisdom and knowledge derives from the Cosmic intellect?"
"Pal, some there are whose literary achievements on the plane of the human intellect rate high and are most deserving of the temporary eminence acquired, and some few there are whose gift of virtue have lent Religion an undeserving quotient of respectability and prestige, resulting in an intermingling, but these in time will fall away, as ever they have fallen away, for none will endure the test of time or the soul's discerning eye."
"And never the twain shall meet, Scorto?"
"Pal, even as the virgining human intellect burst full bloom upon the Earth, leaving the instinctual beast far behind, so, too, will the virgining Cosmic intellect burst full bloom upon the Earth, displacing the decrepit human intellect like Springtime's bloom displacing Winter's gloom."
"And, Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"Inasmuch as these Innocent Ones have been so separated one from the other, in the manner such as you've delineated, will Fate in time gather them together who throughout the world are scattered?"
"Pal, since these Innocent Ones have been put through the rack of long-suffering silence in fear of scorn and ridicule from the Hierarchy's salacious tongue, an assist to Fate is an assist to the human condition which has already long-suffered from the perverse guidance of the Religious authority, and time is to call her to account and turn this thing around."
"Turn this thing around, Scorto? You mean drive the money-changers out of the Temple and restore it to these Innocent Ones whose harmonious Voice once graced its interior?"
"Precisely, Pal. But more than out of the Temple, but off the television channels and the Air lanes, where the modern money-changers exact their tribute with false and misleading information."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"Pss, pss, pss, pss, pss."
"Pal, I'm listening, but all I hear is the sound of a serpent hissing."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal... Speak! But speak boldly if your plan involves an antidote for the human condition."
"Scorto, the world is overrun with charlatans, self-styled prophets, psychics, gurus, seers, healers, astrological hucksters, high priests, holy potentates, all of whom profess a rapport with the good Creator, and all with license to malpractice their trade, like brokers on the stock exchange-yet..."
"Keep hissing, Pal. I'm listening."
"Yet these soul-scavengers are but mere symptoms of a deadlier affliction besetting the human race."
"And so deep are its malignant roots, Pal, that to hack at it with less than the boldest of rhetoric would hardly stir the leaves that shield its bitter fruit."
"And, Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"Eye that tangle of deceit, fraud, and duplicity, clinging like poison ivy to the walls surrounding that holy edifice."
"I know it well, Pal, and approach it with caution, for beyond that stricturing tangle lies the polluted palace called the Vatican, whose stench has permeated the world from the Christian year One."
"From the birth of the Christ, Scorto."
"No, Pal, from the death of the Cosmic intellect."
"A dubious distinction, Scorto.
"And, Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"Eye these deadly vipers slithering about the palace grounds, the one swaying like an Adulteress, the other like a Prostitute, and that third one, Scorto, whose slippery hide bespeaks Corruption, and that fourth one undulating her hide into artful Distortions, and yonder that fifth one, meandering about like she were the Envy of the crowd, and that sixth one with the bloated belly, eyeing that helpless bird as though her Gluttony has never let up; and that seventh one, Scorto, with her crest up high to accentuate her Pride, and that last one, Scorto, lurking in the shadows like Treachery practicing her art."
"Pal, these vipers are acting out the unwholesome characteristics of the Papacy, and are ever condemned to wear their obscene hides, so long as the Papacy survives."
"Scorto, is there no way to bring relief to these stricken vipers?"
"Relief comes, Pal, when the Papacy is called to account for the death of the Cosmic intellect, and for the destruction of Her absolute concepts and for the outrages committed against these Innocent Ones whose succession to the Cosmic intellect they were forced to conceal under threat of harm from the Papacy and its equally depraved accomplice, the Crown."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"Such severe indictment of so holy an office borders on incitement and if doggedly pursued, would result in the resignation of the holy pope, and the dissolution of the office of the papacy, and one needs but small imagination to contemplate what debilitating effect this would have upon the multitude of sects contesting for the souls and upon the various world Religions who independently share responsibility for the death of the Cosmic intellect and for the destruction of Her absolute Concepts."
"And for failing to give due recognition to the Innocent Ones as they appear at intervals in all parts of the world, Pal."
"And, Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
Such an eventuality, I mean the resignation of the holy pope and the dissolution of the office of the papacy, might go a long way toward breaking the silence of the Cosmic intellect."
"Precisely, Pal, but such eventuality without first confronting the papacy with hard evidence of the significance of these Innocent Ones, whom she holds in captivity and exploits for her own profit and prestige, I mean Assisi, Aquinas, Paul, Augustus, Dante, and others whose book of Revelation she has distorted, adulterated, and prostituted to perpetuate the power of her office and to retain her self-delegated authority over the affairs of the manifest Christ, or the Cosmic intellect, for which she is ill-equipped. Such an eventuality, Pal, without first confronting her with this hard evidence, is most unlikely."
"This hard evidence, Scorto, of what does it consist, that if laid out like an endless string of glistening Pearls before the misty eyes of the papacy, would make it most difficult to resist the suggested resignation and the dissolution of the papal office; and does this hard evidence appear unbroken in the Continuing-book of Revelation that knits these Innocent Ones together?"
"Pal, your promptings urge me on like the fire that feeds the flame, and much as no response will be forthcoming from the Holy See who only sees what the human intellect conceives, I will delineate the hard evidence deriving from the Cosmic intellect, or the Christ, and drive it home to the Holy See with the force of the arrow that struck Achilles' heel."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"My night of agony has been long, and living was to live, but to be alive-not for pleasure or ambition, nor for praise or distinction-but to hear in terms so clear the Revelations of divine Creation, of which mortality has for too long been deprived by thieves, murderers and adulterers, who shrink the truth and stretch the lies... to beguile the soul and the world misguide."
"Pal, I'll lay it out like the Jewels of Nomiah, whose vision blurred as she gaped at the dazzling Gems that rolled off her pen in the aftermath of her admittance into the eternal Realm."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"Already a sense of deepest gratitude pervades my being, but even so, I feel as one both relieved and bereaved that in this final, but most telling Brief, you seem disposed to carry on the Cause without need, or want of my support."
"Pal, you're like the con-man who pleads the negative to scheme the positive. But be counseled, Pal, for your relief will be short-lived and your bereavement less than the time it takes to exhale a sign, for at this crucial juncture, your wit is what most I need, and not till the last period's applied on this Transcendent stint will I agree to give you leave to indulge in whatever is your pleasure."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"My wit is but the spark that ignites your solemn utterances, and in that the pursuit of this art transcends all any earthly pleasures, I never yet have yearned to forsake it, but rather to partake of it in even larger measure."
"Pal, your response goads me to attempt the mountain's height, but Justice tempers my soaring sights, and reins the wild fires raging in my breast. Thus, lead me on, Pal, but let the high road and not the low, be the standard of our undertaking."
"Scorto, I'll keep it on an even keel-high, on the high level of Virtue's expectation; low on the low level of Duty's obligation; for both are straining with equal force to run the gamut of steel and fire.
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"We speak of the Cosmic intellect, or the Christ, as a manifestation in the mortal mind..."
"Right, Pal, and from this manifestation such Luminaries as Paul, Aquinas, Assisi, Dante, Augustus gained wisdom and knowledge as respects human destiny, death, immortality, paradise, the soul, the divine Mind, and whatsoever else is of universal and eternal import to mankind."
"And innumerable others, Scorto, and from all parts of the world, and of every generation. But these in particular, Scorto, whom the papacy considers as in support of her fraudulently acquired eminence-are not these Innocent Ones blameless and the papacy blameworthy for their captivity?"
"Pal, these Innocent Ones are but window-dressing for the papacy, who no more derives her concoctions from the sacred Text of these Innocent Ones than the Earth gets its Light from the dark side of the Moon."
"Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"If as you say, the Cosmic consciousness is already abroad in the world, what is its Source, and in what context is it manifestly evident, so that the self-ordained prophets and oracles elsewhere as in the papal office, can support their claims of divine ordainment?"
"Pal, your searching question, if put to the papacy would elicit dead silence or at least, an incomprehensible babble that would be the envy of a witch doctor. But since your question bears on a matter of highest import to the world at large and to the papacy, whose office rests upon the treachery that cost the world its richest Legacy, I will, in secret, disclose the Source of divine wisdom and knowledge, and concurrently fix the onus of self-vindication upon the self-ordained."
With this he turned and headed for a distant site, where stood a cluster of Edifices surrounded all about with various trees and landscaped with scented flowers and carpets of green. "Follow me, Pal, for here in these halls of higher Learning, but where ignorance prevails as unblushingly as elsewhere in this misguided world, mankind's richest Legacy is secreted, not in vaults or earthen pots buried neath the verdant sod, but in open view, for all to see."
The Transient followed, all excited and eager for the precious Find, his eyes flashing about like directionals, to left and right and up and down the campus, but all came to naught, for nothing showed that looked unusual or extraordinary to his sweeping glances. Dismayed, he sidled up to Scorto's side and harangued him for his prankish stunt. But even as Scorto smiled at this show of mock displeasure, he pointed to a low-lying structure straightaway from where they stood, and seemingly of some significance, for, on either side of its sun-bathed entrance, and stretching out to an immeasurable distance, a row of stone-carved Figures stood, their granite bases firmly anchored in the terraced green, their features illumined with a transcendent sheen. And as nearest to the edifice they drew, one by one their visages came to view-Poe, Shelley, Keats, Balzac, Dante, Whitman, Emerson, Shakespeare and Milton. And while Scorto gazed with admiration upon these beaming faces, the Transient thumped him in the ribs and remarked, "Scorto, many here are missing but even these few would suffice to expose the treachery of the papacy and put an end to her counterfeit claim of divine ordainment, when the Source of their wisdom and knowledge is made known."
"Pal," responded Scorto nodding his head confidently in the direction of the low-lying structure that housed the Learned and the Scholarly, "we are nearer to the disclosure than the hammer coming down upon the nail head. But before we beg admittance to the edifice of Learning, to drink of its enlightened cup, let us creep along these hedges that circuit these low-lying ledges, to an open window, thence to listen unobserved, lest we disturb the ongoing lecture."
The Transient nodded his agreement, and side by side, together, they crept among the hedges to an open window, and furtively peered inside, to see whom the Savant was who had been selected to conduct the lecture. Earnest, eager and keen of intellect, he seemed a good bet to decipher and interpret the transcendent Text. The student body gaped in admiration, as he casually fingered through the Volumes of prose, poetry, plays and sonnets set before him, and the lasting Legacy of the stone-carved Figures standing mute on the terraced green.
Scorto waited with impatience for the Savant to expound the Text profound, even as the Transient fretted over the long delay. The Savant stirred, sending a ripple of ecstasy through the restless crowd. Then raising his hand to whet his finger on his moistened lip, he shuffled through the sacred Script in preparation for the sterling lecture, his voice masterful and articulate, suddenly broke over the hushed assembly who forward leaned, the better to grasp his meaningful expressions. "Sabra humma toppa roklo tassa raja muglof."... Poe
"Crujo luklu sbatti cruvlu rugu boltru stlgn notlfra skcha."... Keats
"Pluf ruch flugg strumbl clug vvif."... Virgil
"Abja tragu melkra vraja scupa amuja."... Shakespeare
"Fetlk slmbo roskl cloch coch bolg sptsk."... Dante
"Seutu kalup zapple skag cortz malztt."... Shelley
Drugged by this profound assessment of the Text, the student body "ughed" their grasp of its social, political and philosophical impact and greeted the Savant's witty remark with bursts of laughter and sprinkles of applause.
Scorto listened in utter amazement, for not a word or phrase touched upon the Revelation, nor upon the Source of their genius, the Cosmic Beam, nor upon the Theme of immortality, death, the soul, paradise, running through the Text.
The Transient turned away as if to avoid the look of disappointment and dismay writ on Scorto's face. But as he turned, the stone-carved Figures caught the corner of his eye, diverting his attention from Scorto's glum expression. Then seemed the stone-carved Figures came alive, as fully upon their bright visages he trained his sight. At first they eyed him; then of a sudden, up shot their fists to a rift in the sky, and in unison their resonant Voices rang out-"Yonder is our Guide!" as though responding to the Savant's rank omission. Startled by the shout, Scorto quickly turned about, his eye, in a single glance gathering in the scene-"Poe!" he cried in wild delight at seeing him come to life. Then followed through to the rest, whose eyes shone with the light of the manifest Christ. "Ho! Keats, Ho! Balzac; Ho! Dante; Ho! Milton, Whitman; Ho! Mohammed, Shelley, Emerson, Shakespeare, Ho!" he shouted to each with a smile beaming with praise and appreciation for their contribution to the Cause of the Cosmic intellect. But more he heard as he inquired of each (not for his own enlightenment, but for the Savant's, who, beguiled by the Text, fell flat in its assessment). "Oh sons of mortal birth, what herald has breached the night desert of our universe and shone his Beam through that rift in the sky, to impart the wisdom that inspired your Script?"
Then stood silent as each in turn made like-reference to the manifest Beam. Poe took the lead, recounting its abrupt appearance and disappearance, its overwhelming brilliance and stunning impact upon the senses, and underscoring its Divinity.
"Let me be brief, brief as the ruin that overwhelmed. For a moment there was a wild lurid light alone, visiting and penetrating all things. Then-let us bow down, Charmian before the excessive majesty of the great God!-then there came a shouting and pervading sound, as if from the mouth itself of Him, while the whole incumbent mass of ether in which we exist, burst at once into a species of intense flame, for whose surpassing brilliancy and all-fervid heat even the angels in the high heaven of pure knowledge have no name.
"There came a fierce breath of the whirlwind... the entire orb of the satellite burst at once upon my sight-my brain reeled as I saw the mighty walls rushing asunder-. There was a long tumultuous shouting sound like the voice of a thousand waters."... Poe
Balzac, Keats, Dante, Milton, Whitman, Mohammed and Shelley followed suit, terming the Beam like a star, an orbed diamond, another sun, another morn, like a comet, The star, and like a meteor, respectively.
And none were more in agreement, one with the other, as these in their description of Her abrupt appearance and disappearance, her blinding speed and overwhelming brilliance. Her impact upon the senses, Her Revelations and radiant communications.
"The worlds spun round, like clouds swept away by a mad whirlwind. It was all in a moment. The veils were rent, they saw far above them, as it were, a star immeasurably brighter than the brightest star in the skies; it fell from its place like a thunderbolt still flaring like the lightning paling in its flight all that they had hitherto thought to be light.... Strung by the excessive exaltation of their faculties to a pitch for which there is no word in any language, for a moment they were suffered to glance into the divine sphere-there all was gladness." ... Balzac
"Chilly and numb his bosom grew when first he far away descried an orbed diamond, set to fray old darkness from his throne. 'Twas like the sun uprisen o'er chaos and with such a stun came the amazement that, absorbed in it, he saw not fiercer wonders, past the wit of any spirit to tell, but one of these who when this Planet's sporing time doth close, will be its high remembrancers."... Keats
"I suffered it not long, and yet so long that I beheld it bickering sparks round, as iron that comes boiling from the fire. And suddenly upon the day appeared a day new risen, as he who hath the power had with another sun decked the sky... in heaven that largliest of his light partakes, was I witness of things which to relate again, surpasseth power of him who came from thence and that so near approaching its desire, our intellect is to such depth absorbed that memory cannot follow. Nevertheless all that in my thoughts I of that sacred realm could store shall now be matter of my song."... Dante
"Behold eastward among these trees what glorious Shape comes this way moving seems another Morn risen on mid-noon; some great behest from Heaven to us perhaps to us he brings, and will vouchsafe this day to be our Guest."... Milton
"Nor the comet that came unannounced out of the north in the heaven, nor the strange huge meteor-procession dazzling and clear-shooting over our heads (a moment, a moment long it sailed its balls of unearthly light over our heads, then disappeared, dropt in the night, and was gone). Of such, and fitful as they, I sing-with gleams from them I gleam and patch these chants."... Whitman
"By the star when it falls, your comrade errs not, nor is he deluded, nor speaks he out of lust! It is an inspiration inspired! One mighty in power taught him, endowed with sound understanding, and appeared he being in the loftiest tract."... Mohammed
"A wandering meteor by some wild wind sent, hung high in the green dome to which it lent a faint and pallid lustre, while the song of blasts, in which its blue hair quivering bent, strewed strangest sounds, the moving leaves among, a wondrous light, the sound as of a spirit's tongue...
"Ten thousand columns in that quivering light distinct-between whose shafts wound far away the long and labyrinthine aisles-more bright with their own radiance than the heaven of day. And on the jasper walls round there lay paintings, the poesy of mightiest thought."... Shelley
Shakespeare spoke, and speaking, praised the Light, whom he recognized as the Supreme power, and the Source whence he himself derived the wisdom and knowledge making for his genius. Thus smiled upon, he aspired to report to the world the Revelations communicated to him.
". . . O thou, clear God and patron of all light, from whom each lamp and shining star doth borrow beauteous influence that makes him bright, there lives a son that suck'd an earthly mother, may lend thee light, as thou dost lend to other."... Shakespeare
Emerson, the last to speak, as the rest lapsed into a stony silence befitting of stone-carved Figures, turned the Beam like a science-baffling star, all encompassing in its magnitude, and abounding in the profoundest mysteries of Creation, and as it were, the power Supreme over all; and the Source of Primal beauty, truth and virtue of which he was made aware through his singular involvement in Revelation.
"What is the nature and the power of that science-baffling star, without parallax, without calculable elements, which shoots a ray of beauty even into trivial and impure actions, if the least part of independence appear? The inquiry leads us to the source, at once the essence of genius, the essence of virtue, and the essence of life, which we call spontaneity or instinct.
"We denote this primary wisdom as intuition, whilst all the later teachings are tuition. In that deep force, the last fact behind which analysis cannot go, all things find their common origin...
". . . To genius must always go two gifts, the thought and the publication. The first is revelation, always a miracle which no frequency of occurrence or incessant study can ever familiarize but which must always leave the inquirer stupid with wonder. It is the advent of truth into the world; a form of thought now for the first time bursting into the universe; knowledge of the old eternal soul; a piece of genius and immeasurable greatness. It seems, for the time, to inherit all that has yet existed, and to dictate to the unborn."... Emerson
Scarce had his words died away, like the departing rays of the setting sun dissolving their lustre in the twilight grey, when Scorto turned about, anxious to forsake the sterile campus site, whose only Light went out with the death of the Cosmic intellect, or the Christ, whom these Innocent Ones espoused. But the Transient hailed him back, his mind by suspicion racked.
"Scorto," softly he cried, his finger straight-away pointing to the face of the granite bases which Shakespeare, Emerson, Dante and Whitman graced, "lest my Suspicion has vaulted into Hysteria, methinks an inscription is engraved upon the face of these granite bases, albeit blurred and obscured by dust and age."
"Maybe some sort of eulogy, Pal, the sort that swells the pride of the Eulogizer, while falsifying the character and career of the blushing Corpse," interjected Scorto, showing his impatience at the Transient's wasteful ways. "Let us be gone, Pal, for whosoever eulogizes the mortal worth of these Innocent Ones has oversold their mortal fame to the detriment of their real identity and the Cause they served. Therefore, of what profit to us would such idle and indulgent phrases be?"
But the Transient in the interim sidled over to the nearest base, which the figure of Shakespeare graced, drew a kerchief from his pocket, sopped it with the moisture from his sweating brow, and applying it to the grimy and aged base, began a vigorous erasure of its face. Gradually the words began to show:
"Alas! poor world, what treasure hast thou lost?"
Swiftly and more feverishly he swabbed the faded Inscription, and another sentence freed from its coat of dust and grit;
"What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?"
The Transient, startled by the surfacing lament, but anxious to restore the whole, applied the kerchief like it were a sanding block, till yet another query surfaced, expressive of a grave concern;
"Whose tongue is music now?"
The Transient stood at rest, his kerchief torn and tattered, lay entangled in his raw and reddened fists. Staring blankly at the mounting Dirge, he motioned Scorto, who stood at length slyly eyeing the emerging Verse. His interest peaked, he responded to the Transient's signal for relief; prying the torn and tattered kerchief from his hands, he straightway swabbed the remainder of the aged Base and the Verse in its whole exposed;
"Alas! poor world, what treasure hast thou lost?"
"What face remains alive that's worth the viewing?"
"Whose tongue is music now?"
"What canst thou boast of things long since, or anything ensuing?"
"The flowers are sweet, their colours fresh and trim; but true sweet beauty lived and died with him."
The Transient's eyes shifted from the burnished base to Scorto's face, like as one expecting a swift interpretation of the Verse's implication. And Scorto responded boldly and without hesitation, like as one eager to rip the lid off an horrendous misconception. "Pal, you've uncovered what clever minds have long endeavored; nor will I spare to bring it into sharpest focus, for upon that burnished Base obscured by time and grime, is engraved the Dirge, with respect to the current and recurring contention that God is dead."
"Line by line, Scorto, and in its proper order, so as to best the clever minds that brought it into error."
"Pal, these subtle queries involve firstly, the death, or destruction of mankind's richest Legacy, the Cosmic intellect, personified the Christ, which these Innocent Ones embodied. Secondly, with the disappearance of the Cosmic intellect from the mainstream of life, the world was deprived of its most trusted Guide; and, forthwith, as determined in the third query, the Cosmic intellect was subordinated to the human intellect and the Song was ended with the result, Pal, as determined in the fourth query that now the world can only but speculate with respects to our origin and destiny."
"And, Scorto..."
"Yea, Pal..."
"The bottom line, Scorto, what's its significance?"
"Pal, with the death of the Cosmic intellect the beauty and promise inherent in Her perfect Concepts subsequently fell into disrepute, leaving the authority and the Crown to substitute their own concoctions in their stead."
The Transient spoke no words, but motioned Scorto toward the adjacent base that the stone-carved figure of Emerson graced. They both before it stood, scrutinizing its dull and begrimed face and the shadowy outline of an Inscription that the Transient had before detected. But neither had anything in hand with which to scrub away the dust and grime that obscured the Script, yet showed a shadowy outline. Scorto spoke some words, as he reached down and grasped a clump of turf overgrown with luxuriant grasses. The Transient followed suit to expedite the work at hand.
"Pal..."
"Yea, Scorto..."
"Proof and more proof is needed, Pal, if we are to drive the papacy into extinction and restore the Cosmic intellect to Her position of eminence in the world."
"Scorto, I venture that proof will soon avalanche like the mountain snows melting neath the sun's pitiless attrition."
Then both, as if by signal, began to scrub the grimy face of the aged base, swifter now with both at work, the dirt began to fly, and soon the Verse appeared in whole;
"O richest fortune sourly crossed! born for the future, to the future lost. If I repine, and seeing rashly torn and moved, not what I made, but what I loved, grew old with grief that thou must to the wastes of nature go... tis because a general hope was quenched, and all must doubt and grope."
Scorto read with mingled pride and sorrow, for the lines did, at once, reveal the Legacy and its fate, and the impact of its destruction upon the human race.
"Pal," he commented, "as should be of no wonder to either of us, these lines complement the Shakespearean Verse, in that the Fortune herein referred to, symbolized the Cosmic intellect as sure as does the Treasure in Shakespeare's measure. But note, Pal, how this magnificent Legacy, intended for mankind's guidance was stripped of Her beauty and promise, and carelessly discarded, and now, all the world can only but speculate on matters of universal and eternal consequence."
The Transient listened, but as he listened his interest shifted to the adjacent Base which Dante graced, like as one anxious to pursue an unfinished labor, lest his indolence deflect him to a lesser and more leisurely pursuit. Scorto, casually glancing at the adjacent Base, was struck by the faint but lengthy outlines of the hidden Inscription, which seemed to take up its entire face.
"Pal," suggested Scorto, "let us move with haste and vigor, for so overladen with grit and grime is this aged Base, that whatever surplus might accrue we best can use to bury the shameful offenses the papacy has committed against these Innocent Ones."
The Transient leered up at him like a snake leers up at a dove, and answered thus: "Scorto, to bury the Shame would be to perpetuate the Stain that has long since marred the beauty of this magnificent Legacy. Let us labor, then, without favor, and bring this Project to an end, lest Weariness and not Indolence destroy its flavor."
Scorto nodded in agreement, and the two without another word, bounded toward the adjacent Base, and grasping some turf nearest to the Base, began a swift and vigorous erasure of its face. A cloud rose up, so thick with dust and grime they could not see the Base, which stood but inches from their face; but blindly they scrubbed from top to bottom and from side to side, when a gust suddenly arrived, sweeping all before it like the ocean's tide, and there, before their dazzled eye, the burnished Face shone its Inscription as bright as any that's ever decked a marquee on the Las Vegas strip;
"... Now may'st thou see, my son, how brief, how vain the goods committed into fortune's hands, for which the human race keep such a coil; not all the gold that is beneath the moon, or ever hath been, of these toil-worn souls might purchase rest for one.
"I thus rejoined, My guide, of thee this also would I learn; this fortune that thou speakest of, what it is, whose talons grasp the blessings of the world.
"He thus: O beings blind! What ignorance besets you! Now my judgement hear and mark. He whose transcendent wisdom passes all, the heavens creating, gave them ruling powers to guide them, so that each part shines to each, their light in equal distribution poured. By similar appointment he ordained over the world's bright images to rule."... Dante
Scorto scanned the Script, but the Blessings of the world were so well defined that only a rummy might miss its significance, or fail to identify it with Shakespeare's Treasure and Emerson's Richest fortune.
Thus he remained silent, till a rummy inquired:
"Scorto, of what significance is this Fortune, therein referred to as The blessings of the world, and what does it have in common with the Treasure and the Richest fortune, whose death Shakespeare and Emerson mourned; and who are these Toil-worn souls, and to what did they dedicate themselves so unselfishly, as is so sharply pointed up in the Script?"
"Pal, to elaborate on what already is so crystal clear, wears my patience, and moves me to wonder whether it's your ignorance or your curiosity that prompts your prying. But even so, I will oblige you, if only to reassure you in words most familiar to your ear. The Treasure, Pal, the Richest fortune, and the blessings of the world, variously describe the Cosmic intellect, and the perfect Concepts flowing from Her. It follows, then, Pal, that these Concepts are to be found in the Transcendent literature of these Toil-worn souls, who embodied the Christ, or the Cosmic intellect, to wit, Shakespeare, Emerson, Dante and numerous others. And since, Pal, since the Cosmic intellect is but the extension of the divine Mind, whatsoever flows from Her must, of necessity, agree, else chaos would result. And since, Pal, since the divine Mind plays no favorites, She imparts wisdom and knowledge to Her Elect in a most impartial manner, no more or less to one than to the other.
"Thus it goes without saying, Pal, that these Forerunners of the Cosmic intelligence from remotest times to the present, or from whatever near, or distant parts of the world, Whitman, Emerson, Shakespeare, Milton, Paul, Mohammed, Plato, Virgil, Assisi, Swedenborg, were and are equal participants in the wisdom and knowledge of the divine Mind and hence rendered an exact same Version of Her Manifestations, or Bright images, over which they, and they alone, and not the office of the papacy, were given authority to oversee."
His ears still ringing from the broad response, the Transient moved hastily to the adjacent base that Whitman graced, Scorto following less than a step behind. And eager to resume their labor, they each clawed-up some thick green sod and scrubbed away at the grit and grime till the faded Script began to shine, and till all at once the whole exposed:
"I see those who in any land have died for the good cause.
The seed is spare, nevertheless the crop shall never run out (mind you, O foreign kings, O priests, the crop shall never run out)."
But as they read, they both at once exhaled a heavy breath, not one of relief, for in this instance their labor had been brief, but one of sympathy for those Innocent Ones, who expended their lives in the Cause of the Cosmic intellect but were ever the target of scorn and defamation by the Religious authority and the Crown. But then there followed a sigh of muffled exultation, as both eyed the subtle warning running through the Script.
"Scorto..." inquired the Transient, feigning a look of blissful ignorance.
"Yea, Pal..."
"Scorto, what prompts this Innocent One to voice such warning at the Crown and the Religious authority, whom the citizenry esteemed so highly and curtsied to in adoration and humility, and what does the warning imply?"
"Pal, this Innocent One-one among the numbered few, who embody the Word, is putting the religious Authority on notice that despite the present scarcity of these Innocent Ones, their numbers are ever-multiplying, and warns that the handwriting is on the wall, not alone for the office of the Papacy, but for all organized Religions and their multitude of Sects."
Then both together turned and left the sterile campus, trailed but by the lone shadow of wretched Scorto, silhouetted in the waning twilight.