New Perspective: The Historian

Hope is merely a positive expectation of what may occur. For the vast majority of the population this hope remained in the Tri-Verse. Yes, the Tri-Verse meant that there were a few that were isolated and it meant that some had to be ostracized but overall it meant that the human race was capable of amazing things.

This hope floundered when Asa’s Projection was introduced. Labeled a Virus by the Church and The Miracle by the doubters it began the process of Resolution. Having a Resolution between the Disconnected, Excommunicated and Aborted members of that society and the Connected once seemed impossible. Why would these and the Connected even choose to be together? What would the slow pace of the Disconnected have to offer the Tri-Verse Connected Consciousness anyway? Why would the two have any need to be in communion? It not only seemed impossible but it seemed unnecessary. The two seemed destined to always be at odds.

The Projection meant that doubters felt free to think these things freely for the first time in hundreds of years. There were more doubts than the Church could handle- they simply did not know they existed before. They had no idea the breadth of these doubts. They had no idea how deep they ran through in their population. Like the tunnels that Asa was once lost in, they ran throughout their community and they ran deep. It opened the Church’s eyes. Where they were once blind they now had the opportunity to see. Freedom to doubt is a scary thing for Church whose control resides in the faithful. It was the freedom to doubt that would allow the church to relinquish control and in doing so grow in strength.

Freedom comes at such high costs. Lives can be lost, revolutions and wars can rage and many, in the process, may wander if the Church is even worth it all. Being Connected had become the birth rite for those in the Tri-Verse; what if it became a choice? Would its importance be squandered? Was there room for those Disconnected members in the Tri-Verse? Members saw these people as those that chose a life of poverty and ignorance. How did these even begin to fit into their community?

Members often forget that the Church isn’t theirs to begin with. The Projection was the spark for a cultural and religious revolution that would allow those to see a new perspective. Lives would be lost. A cold war would rage. Many many many members would wonder if their Connection was worth it at all. It would come to pass. And it would pass. All things pass. To understand how these things pass is the point of Historians. To understand why these things arrive at a certain place after passing is the point of these documents.

You may call me the Historian, most do. I am not a Historian. I am concerned with how we arrived at this place after the events passed. The Tri-Verse once thought being utopian only existed as long as those that did not fit the mold were not apart of the community. Today we know that the Quadrivium can only exit because we acknowledge without these communities we are less perfect, less whole and imcomplete.

The Beach

They were playing on the beach, taking in the sun. Asa looked down at his charge and saw her annoyance at having to be there at all. She was whiney and pushing boundaries and attempting to get her way. He knew that she loved him because he didn’t accept her whining, set clear boundaries and only let her get her own way when she had earned it.

“Uncle Asa, you know how I hate to go this slow. It’s infuriorating after being Connected. I do not know how you can stand it.. at least we could drive instead of walk?” She hated walking anywhere. He chuckled softly, “It is important Tamar, to take things slowly. It is important to understand how to move with clarity.”

She rolled her adoloscent eyes in his direction while his back was turned to look over the lake. “I see that Tamar” he said.

She giggled, “How do you do that Uncle Asa?” And she took his hand and pulled him down the beach at a faster pace. Laughing she asked, “Do you think the World will continue to get faster? Can it go any faster than it already does? Or will it get slower again like it did in the ancient times?”

Such was Tamar, ever inquisitiveness she had some of the strangest questions he’d ever heard. She often spoke with an old soul beyond her years. “Where does a question like that even come from Tamar?” he asked her gently as he slowed down the pace of their walk again.

Tamar shrugged. “I suppose it comes from the lessons in class today. They told us about the Disconnected, they told us they do everything the slow way. They told us that they are the last remaining strands of humanity that resist the truth. They told us that these people are poor, slow and uneducated because they choose to be. But why would anyone choose to be poor? Why would one want to be slow? It does not make any sense Uncle.”

Asa paused at the question. They stood, not walking, along the shores and he looked over at his beloved niece. He put his finger under her chin and brought her eyes to meet his. He searched them, he looked for their mercy, he looked for their understanding. She had all the right questions but he was not sure that she could bear the answers. Finally, when he could tell she was getting restless, he began to walk again. She watched him for a few steps and then jogged to catch up with him. She was used to long silences and strange gazes but she persisted anyway.

“Do you not know the answers to my questions Uncle Asa?”

He kept walking and stayed in his thoughts for a bit longer and finally he said, “I believe that you already know the answers or you would not have asked the question my dear niece.”

She stopped walking and watched him go ahead of her. “Asa” she said, dropping the formality as a way of getting his attention. “Will you always speak to me in riddles?”

“My dear” he said, “we have places to be. Let us hurry.”

Dark Passages

The first tunnel was a dud. Luckily they figured out it was caved in within a mile or so. They walked back slowly and decided to call it a night. They darkness meant that they could not be positive of the time but they knew it was long past the dinner hour and they were tired and exhausted. Asa handed out the cardboard-like bread rations. After passing round the water pitcher the children began to lie down. He heard a few of them sniffling past tears, weak attempts at hiding their fear.

Rueben sat next to the old abbot and spoke quietly. “Which Tunnel should we try next Abbot? Are there any clues as to which one would be better than the other?”

The Abbot sighed, “I do not know Rueben. Perhaps we should pray about it and make a decision in the morning.” Morning, thought Asa, when will ever see morning again?  He laid out his cloaks, lay on his back and stared at the old ceiling above him. His faith was shaken. Uncertainty plagued him. Once so full of faith he could stand on sand dune and stare at the sun and now so broken he had no direction- buried in this tomb. The night passed slowly.

Hours passed and he heard some of the children began to stir. He sat slowly and looked around. The few lights in shelter were beginning to flicker. It was time to move. He looked over at the younger priest, “Well Reuben, where does the Lord lead us?” Surprised, for the abbot was not one to relinquish the reigns of control, the priest pointed down one of the tunnels. “I believe I would go this way, Father.”

Asa nodded, “Let us go forward then” and he picked up the myriad of light-torches, gathered the children in a line and they began the treacherous journey into the depths of the earth. Asa led, the few adults in the middle and Reuben brought up the end. No more children would be lost; no adult would go unaccounted for. The darkness of the tunnel was absolute without their light-torches and they could not be recharged without sunlight. There was no way of knowing how long they’d last.

The tunnel was mostly clear of debris. Here and there parts of rock or old tools had been left behind but mostly the floor and walls seemed to have held up. The tunnel itself, narrow and short at the beginning started to widen as they moved on. By mid day the tunnel was a full six and half feel high and they could walk by twos. It was suffocating, the air had not moved there for a long time, the torches were only good for seeing right in front of ones feet. It was as though the darkness was snuffing them out.

As they walked Asa prayed. He wasn’t sure what he was praying for though and he didn’t bother to figure it out. He could hear the children talking, some crying, some stopping to use the restroom and the few adults were murmuring.  Little Rebekah walked next to him the whole way. None of her siblings had made it down; her mother and father too were absent. She was all alone.

Boaz and the Truth

Boaz stood just outside the door. Sound proofed and locked he had no idea what might be discussed in there. He knew if he played his cards write Shamuel would tell him eventually. He was breathing heavily and quickly, petrified that she somehow knew their secret. How could she have known?

It wasn’t as though priests had to submit to some antiquated ideal of purity. There were no standards of celibacy within the Papal Council any longer but to be physically intimate with a superior of the same sex was unacceptable. He knew it. Shamuel knew it. It occurred anyway. Only through mind exercises and consistent attention was he able to keep it from the Consciousness.

Homosexual relationships were not abnormal in normal society. A full third of marriages were now homosexual in nature but church leadership was expressly forbidden from these. It happened, of course but it was a well kept secret. Boaz had written a digital file during his priestly studies on the comparison of sexual scandal of the ancient church and sexual discrepancies now. It was quickly removed and he was told to put the thought away.

The young man sighed. She knew. He wondered what Shamuel would do to her or if he’d have the power to shut her up. Boaz leaned up against the wall. He was tall, just over six foot, and thin. He was not overtly muscular but his lean form demonstrated a strong build. He was not gangly. His dark hair and eyes gave him a serious look that fit her personality perfectly.

Fresh priestly tattoos shimmered down his right arm. They itched and were still fresh. They often took weeks of care to heal and he did not look forward to the process of doing his left arm. The silver inlays were merely microscopic connections laid into his skin with a tattoo gun over and over and over again. The skin would swell up around them to puffy proportions and pain reservers were prohibited. Training priests were taught meditation techniques to deal with pain and the process.

He subconsciously rubbed his right arm. The puffiness from the tattoos was mostly gone but he could still feel the connections slightly raised. The scar tissue would remain for a long time. He returned to his thoughts. He had kept it secret so long he stopped thinking about what it meant to keep a secret. But he thought about it now: it meant denying the Tri-Verse his true self. To keep it meant to break the very bonds of his Priestly duties. It meant to deny truth to those that sought Christ.

Shaking his head he pushed himself off the wall. He looked down at his feet and in that moment what he knew what his truth was. It was Priests like him that had allowed the breach to occur. The virus was a sign from the Creator. The Tri-Verse had been blasphemed because of those like him who had denied the followers truth. His realization devastated his spirit.

The Conversation.

She sat comfortably, she breathed evenly. She was not afraid; she had not lied about that. During her time of silence Tamar had realized many things. For one, she knew that what they called a virus was merely a message from her Uncle Asa. They had attempted to tell her again and again that it was a virus but she knew it was not intended to infect anything. She understood that what might be a virus for the Tri-Verse was merely a message to her. It was the first time in her life that what she was told by her superiors did not align with what she knew as her truth. It was the first time in her life that she had a truth separate from that of the Consciousness.

Her eyes blinked slowly and she looked at Shamuel from under long dark lashes.  At first, she had not been able to process it. The reason for her silence, at first, had been a mental break down. The pieces of reality had to be sorted through and understood. Like a puzzle, they were put back into place but now the picture had no edge pieces- there was no real beginning or end. She tilted her head to one side; much like a dog looking at a tv screen in wonder, and she stared at the man in front of her. He’d been close to Asa when she was young. She remembered now; she saw it clearly.

“Will you force me to ask the questions you know I must ask?” a long pause “Tamar?” She remained still but smiled slightly.

“Do you ever miss him Shamuel?”

Again, surprised at her lack of formality, he found himself off kilter.

“Tamar, my name is Father Shamuel and I am quite sure we did not come here to talk about myself.” He was firm, calm and resolute. He could not allow her to distract him from the goal. “Now tell me Tamar, what did you see when the virus attacked? What did it look like?”

She sighed and began playing with the rug under her feet. Pushing the pattern in the deep rug out of sync with the tip of her shoe. She looked up and stared into his eyes. “I really thought you’d be more intelligent than the others. Or, at least, I thought you’d have better questions. Aren’t you meant to be good at this sort of thing?” Her comments came off as petulant and rebellious. She was a child arguing with Asa all over again but now the argument would certainly mean the difference between life in the Tri-Verse and the life of the disconnected.

They stared each other down. Quickly he siad, “Did you see Asa, Tamar?” He asked it calmly with no hint of emotion and he did it as soon as the last syllable left her huffy comments. She was surprised and he knew he finally found a crack in her calm demeanor.

“Were you his lover Shamuel?”

The conversation had become a game of chess with quick important moves and long periods of silence waiting for the other to make a mistake. Answers were few, questions remained.

Into the Tunnels.

The old shelter offered ancient lights which ran on a modern generator that on the surface above.  The lights flickered as the bombs continued. Dust from the ceiling drifted down with each bomb that dropped from above. Children coughed and cried and Asa waited. How long they had been bombing he did not know. He prayed that they would stop.

It was no secret that Tri-Verse communities sent out drones to monitor the growth of the Disconnected. They must have known when the community was most vulnerable. They must have known when the children would be separated from their parents. They must have known when they could cause the most damage. Silent tears ran down Asa’s weathered and dusty cheeks. The dust and tears made mud that fell from his chin and onto Rachel’s head as she sat close to him in his lap.

She looked up at him. “Father Asa” she said gently, “Do not cry, God will give us a way.” He looked into her eyes and could barely still the swelling guilt that welled up inside of him. Would they ever forgive him if they knew he’d caused it? Just then, the lights flickered once more and then stayed on. The noises above quieted and the whining of the engines began to fade. The domed room with faint lights that had stood the test of time remained even still; these walls had been built for such an attack. He was impressed with the ancients- their foresight had saved the children.

Asa moved Rachel off his lap and stood. He motioned to the Father Reuben and they moved towards the stairway. As the children and the few adults watched they made their way up the steps to see if the door could be opened. Asa pushed up on the wooden door while the Reuben ensured the old abbot didn’t hurt himself. Anyone could see though that the door would not open; the town hall had crumbled all around it.

Reuben sat with Asa on the top step overlooking their dusty constituents below. Emergency foodstuffs were stored here for weather emergencies but it would only be enough for a few days. They spoke quietly to one another as they decided their next course of action.

“Abbot, perhaps it is time to seek out the tunnels.”

The Abbot was slow in responding but finally answered, “and what do we do Rueben? Starve in the belly of the earth with these children following us like blind mice?”

“Abbot, perhaps it is better that they starve in the belly of the earth then under the dead bodies of their families. We cannot give up yet.”

The tunnels were another testament to the ancients. They had built shelters that had dotted the landscape and connected them with tunnels. Many of the old shelters and most of the tunnels now stood below ruins of cities long abandoned by time and necessity. No one had mapped them or knew exactly where they went. They were dangerous and many of the tunnels had failed; still, one might offer an escape. It was their only hope.

Universal History 7.4

For as many millennia as is recorded the human race believed that it was their religion that gave them truth. Even in 2010 when the Networking Revolution began they still thought that religion was not determined by culture but by truth. 600 years later when Tamar and Asa entered the scene not much had changed.

You see, humanity does not learn from its mistakes very often. It is easier to believe that your truth will mean your success. However, reality dictates that your truth is little more than the culture you were raised with. It is rare then, that anyone within a culture dares to change it entirely. This not because many do not want to, they do, it is often because they do not even know the enemy they fight.

How can one fix a problem when they do not know what the problem is to begin with? You can try and kill a religion but another will pop up in its place. You can try and kill all religion but the same culture within the political sphere will remain or even grow further. Culture is the flow of life and religion and politics are merely the boats on that river. To destroy one does not change the path of others you put on its waters.

Interestingly enough it would be a young priestess who finally saw the river for what it was. She saw past the Tri-Verse, she saw past Asa’s extremism and she saw past all the other boats in her line of sight. For the first time, she saw the river. It was not the educated elite, the priests of religious renown or even those that asked the deeper questions who would finally see. Isn’t that the way though? Those that see are often perceived by their society as blind.

It wasn’t until Tamar’s death much later that the world understood. She knew better than to let them know too soon. It was in her writings and video images that the world was taught a gentler way. The Disconnected were not dumb but neither were the Connected disillusioned.  It was in their unwillingness to see the other as necessary to the greater whole that they failed. As though the hand was telling the stomach it should be a hand and trying to destroy it when it was not able to do so. The body of the church, for a while, attacked itself.

Many say we had to know true suffering in order to become what we are today. I am not so sure. Regardless, in her passing, new life began to arise but in the midst of her life great suffering occurred. Great loss. It was darker than Medieval Age. It was disease, warfare and struggle. Changing culture is much like changing the course of a river. Seemingly impossible and always difficult; when not done properly it may cause great destruction. So it was with the Networking Revolution. So it was within the Tri-Verse.

The Inquisitor and the Priestess

Tamar sat and gauged Shamuel’s response. She knew he’d come eventually and here he was. In all his Inquisition glory, she thought. The years had not been kind to the man’s frame. Pale skin sagged and his once glorious red hair seemed dim and wiry. It was rumored in priestly circles that he hated when people stood above him. As Boaz pushed him into the room she stood her place. She calmed her thoughts and breathed deeply. She was completely aware of her physical presence.

“Please Tamar, sit” said Shamuel as he motioned to the settee behind her. She breathed deeply again. Aware of the softness of her hair, the fullness of her stomach from the meal she had eaten, and how her skin felt in the air-conditioned room. She did not answer him. She did not sit. “Tsk, Tamar, I thought we had much to discuss. Will you discuss it all standing?” Shamual now had a jovial grin on his face and it portrayed friendship and a good-natured spirit. Tamar breathed and watched him. His face twitched slightly in the corner of his smile- it betrayed him.

She looked away from Shamuel and into his servants eyes, “Boaz, you have started your tattoos?” was Tamar’s only response. Boaz paused not knowing what to do. He was not addressed often. He stuttered, caught himself and responded, “Yes priestess, my training is going well. They are painful but I am blessed for the reminder of limitedness of the physical.”

The canned response was expected and well versed but the interaction was awkwardly painful. She nodded slightly in approval anyway and responded with gentle encouragement. “May you remember your limitedness in the glories of the Tri-verse, young priest. May you not be swayed by the physical desires of this body. I pray you resist temptation of the spirit from those that may pressure you.” The words spoken meant something and Boaz knew it. His eyes widened, but how could she know?! The thought was barely out when Shamuel lost his patience.

“ALRIGHT! Enough Tamar! Sit! You will be questioned and you will obey or you will be dismissed!” It was only when he lost his demeanor that Tamar sat down. She smiled slightly, moved her habit in the fashionable way and sat upon the expensively upholstered seat. Boaz pushed Shamuel in front of her and he was dismissed harshly and suddenly. He left, feeling flustered, shutting the door on the pair he leaned against the outside of it and breathed. His secret, she knew it. How could she know it?

Shamuel placed his hand on his skinny knees and stared into her green flecked eyes. “You do not scare me Tamar,” he said softly. She looked at his pale skin, and weakened body and smiled. With a genuine giggle she said, “Oh Shamuel, you silly old Inquisitor, I had no intention of scaring anyone.” He’d never been spoken too in such a way once again he was off his guard. Who was this priestess?

The Bombing

He stood on top of his dune looked up into the sun, eyes closed, breathing deeply in meditative prayer. The heat of the day pounded his face mercilessly.  He’d gone back and forth a thousand times. Was his act selfish? Was it necessary? Had it been sinful? Had it been God’s will? He did not know but he prayed. The wind swept round his habit but it was dry hot air and it offered no relief from the heat of the day.

They’d been waiting but not a sound had crossed their bandwidth. All there was was silence. Had the Papal Council known where he was all this time? Had they destroyed all but him to let him live through the pain? Had they done it so he would see what his actions had wrought? His own village would starve eventually. He knew it. Did they? Was he being egotistical to think they cared so much about an abbot from the Unconnected that had grasped the weakness of the Tri-Verse? When he thought about it that way… no, he was not.

It was on his dune where the wind brought him warning.  The sound was far far away; perhaps, even beyond the mountain range in the distance. The noise was faint and foreign and it was a buzzing of sorts. It didn’t matter what it sounded like, it only mattered that he’d not heard it before. As though the fires of hell had lit under his feet, he ran. Asa ran and screamed, picking up his staff as he took off, he waved it so that the people would see him from a distance.

“To the shelter! To the shelter!!” and as his village heard him they began to scream and run. Somewhere, a watchman must have heard the noise too and the warning bells rang. They warned those to take cover below the meeting hall. The ancients had built the shelters for warfare but the current tenants had always used them for safety from cyclones. All these centuries later the old stone blocks that has preserved them from the unforgiving storms might now fulfill their old morbid purpose.

As he ran Asa picked up Rachel, scooping her up as she cried for her mother. The children had all been playing in the village during their mid-day break, a stroke of luck really, and they followed him in a river of small humanity to the shelter. As they ran down the main thoroughfare, a townsman and a lesser priest and others joined the moving throng. They entered the meeting hall and began to descend the stone steps into the shelter.

He was guiding people in when the first bombs dropped. He ran in himself when he realized the meeting hall was collapsing. It was then, in the safety of the shelter that he realized the vast majority of those that had made it in were the children. Asa knew the attack dropping at mid-day was no stroke of luck.

The Pair.

No communications had come from Texarkana in months now. Asa sat at his desk, head in hands, praying for the computer screen to come alive. The prayers were answered with the resounding silence. Sometimes, God’s answer was no. What had he done in his selfishness? What pain had he wrought to the people who eeked out their existence in the wasteland of the selfish Tri-Verse? What were they to do? How would they survive? The raids would come here too. He knew it. They would come for him specifically. He stood, took up his staff, wrapped his stole around and prepared for his journey home.

~~~~~~~~

He’d never been much of a speaker. He much preferred the silence, the quiet, the hushed world that had been created for him. It was better this way. Where he often remained silent within the Papal Council Chamber, and his thoughts remained calm within the bounds of the Tri-Verse, he excelled one-on-one. It had been that way for as long as he could remember. It was why he’d been chosen; questioning was his gift. He understood the mind.

He sat there, staring at Tamar and he saw Asa’s face all over her countenance. The set jaw, the green eyes, and the unwavering belief were Asa’s. He knew before the first question was asked that it would not end well for her. It took him back to the days of the Priesthood. Long before he took his seat as inquisitor in the body of the papal council. His frail body shuddered. He hated those memories. They made him weak.

Memories lingered like the tiredness of being in the physical world. They made his body sag further in his chair. He remembered a sandy beach and he remembered Asa. He had been such a wonderful friend. It seemed like a lifetime ago now. Watching Asa dip his toes in the cold waters of Lake Michigan. They’d been so young, just clerics in training. Shamuel felt the edges of his lips turn up as though he might smile. He quashed it quickly. He mentally pushed aside the warmth of Asa’s hands and the long conversations and fears of future tattoos.  He shook his head slowly, eyes closed, faded red lashes strait as boards hovered.

Eyes closed, his thoughts shifted. He remembered Asa’s “epiphany” and his belief that the Tri-Verse was not God given. He remembers Asa’s pleas for Shamuel’s compassion. He remembered Asa’s screams as he begged to see his precious Tamar. The Tamar he’d taken to their precious shores of the massive lake. Oh, Shamuel remembered alright. His slight smile faded into a snear. He looked up at Tamar from below those lashes.

He sighed. She smiled.

“Shall we begin?” he asked.

With a barely perceptible nod Boaz pushed him over the threshold. So it was.

Background: Shamuel

He sat brooding.  The room was darkened with only glints of light filtering through the heavy rich drapery that covered his windows of the penthouse.  The Papal Council always occupied the top floors of the building in New Vatican. Something Shamuel found ironic since none of them really cared for the earthy view.

It had been several months since the virus had infiltrated the Tri-Verse. Now the papal council was constantly trying to keep the new viruses at bay. Once it had gotten through the evil powers that saw the Tri-Verse as a blasphemy followed suit.  There would be no end in sight for years to come and he knew it.  The Connected prayed for miracles; the Papacy prayed for acceptance.

He grunted as he stood. His body was withered, pale and sickly. The shock of his red hair and beard were the only things that made him look alive. As a priest, he was meant to love all the worlds equally: spiritual, physical and virtual. Reality was that he hated the physical world- it was here that he was limited. It was here that his body betrayed his mind. It was, he thought, a beautiful mind.

The dark red habit hung off his frame. The white stole dangled limply. He looked weak and small. It was that Priestess bitch that had forced him here. Too weak to be put back into the Tri-Verse for questioning he was made to come out of his solitude to do the deed. No Priest or Priestess had ever chosen to remain silent- they all spoke eventually. In doing so they were either welcomed back into the fold or excommunicated. But she had been silent for months now and while she remained silent the Papacy remained in limbo. It could not continue much longer. He knew it, she knew it, and the Tri-Verse knew it.

He walked slowly across his hushed apartment and opened the oak door.  His servant awaited him.  Boaz helped his superior into a throne-like wheel chair and, without a word, pushed the Inquisitor down the long corridor. The council had been this way for centuries: a community of priests who made decisions in consensus within the Tri-Verse. Each represented a different part of the body of the church but all with the same mission: to spread the good news of the Tri-Verse Consciousness. Shamuel was merely one part of this papal body.

They moved deeper into the complex. Shamuel, passively sitting in his chair; Boaz, exerting his strength to move the well-respected man.  They arrived at another apartment door. This door had a lock on the outside. The inquisitor stood, pushed his finger into the keypad and waited for the electronic door to open.  It swung in and there stood Tamar. She was in full habit, dark hair flowed loose down to her waist, shining silver connection tattoos gleamed and green eyes sparkled.  She looked directly at Shamuel and said, “Good day Papal Inquisitor, we have a lot to discuss.”

Universal History 7.3

During the old days people debated if the virtual world was real or could be perceived as real by the people who interacted with it. Centuries in the future the Tri-Verse was no longer a virtual world made up of representations but was the melding of mind-thought interactions. The Tri-Verse was the mental and spiritual presence of a physical being. They were true projections instead of representations So fast were the connections that the Tri-Verse became the real world. So it was.

When a person connects to the Tri-Verse they are authentically present- their mind is their Avatar. All is real. All is true. But when the Abbot introduced his program to the Connection he sent a representative of himself with a message: My Physical Presence Still Exists. What he perceived as a message they professed to be a virus.

The two worlds had become so incompatible that to connect meant destruction. For Asa, the projection had been himself simply communicating to the one person who might understand his message. What Abbot Asa introduced to the Tri-Verse, for the first time, was a delayed image of himself. It was not him, it was a representation of him. It was un-authentic, a lie and it was blasphemy that corrupted the foundations of the Tri-Verse system.

Tamar knew right away what it was. It wasn’t him but it was him. These were the words she would use over an over again to describe it later. Tamar knew right away that everything had changed. Lies could be introduced to Truth. Those who had any doubt turned against the Tri-Verse, projections and viruses popped up everywhere after Asa’s was introduced. For a time, Tamar remained silent as moto-bots were sent to bomb the Unconnected. For a very long time she remained silent.

Asa had no idea what had happened. He couldn’t know. Several weeks later the bombings started in Texarkana.  He was no fool- no warfare for hundreds of years and then bombings just weeks after his message? He knew she got it. Now, the question remained, could she see his presence in the representation?

The Virus

Tamar was with the children that day in the Tri-Verse. Their minds were squabbling over bits of information and entertaining bits of neurotransmitters.  This wasn’t Tamar’s favorite place but she want content watching over the tiny minds as they learned how to navigate groups within the protected sphere. It was here that everything changed.

She couldn’t remember much but reports from that day were clear. The children were playing in the virtual playground when it appeared.  The image was digital instead virtual. It looked like it was composed of old code held together with rudimentary bonds. She had heard of such things invading the Tri-Verse before but it was the stuff of ghost stories.

Ancient tales of virus infestations haunt children’s dreams in the Tri-Verse. But one had not been able to penetrate the sphere of connections for centuries. Yet, there it was in the midst of them in front of her eyes. She did as she had been trained to do. With all of her being she reached in within herself and screamed, “ABORT!” and instantaneously the children were ejected from their connections and removed from harms way.

Tamar had stood and prayed and kept the invader from moving forward into the Tri-Verse. She used the power of her silver-skin connections to take root in the playground area and held at bay. It took up so much of her energy that when the Papal Council was finally able to impose an Abortion on her and take over the virus removal, Tamar was nearly dead.

It was said that this was the first time in the Tri-Verse history that a Priestess had chosen silence. As she slowly gained consciousness and her connections were restored the Council asked her over and over again if she were able to take apart the code or to see where the code had come from. She did not speak but held vigil. The old code looked nothing like him but it was him and she knew it.

History tells us that in her silence, a plan was formed. Her fears confirmed. She waited until the Wars could begin.

The Spark

He stared at the screen.  He leaned back in his chair stretched out his hand over his head all the while staring at the screen.  Years of coding since leaving the Tri-Verse had led him to this moment. Asa blinked and rubbed his eyes.  He did not know what would happen to the Tri-Verse once an ancient technology inserted itself into the modern one nor did he know if Tamar would reconcile.

His code was much like a floppy disks being inserted into a neur-ocular connection. He wasn’t even sure it world work, or if it did if Tamar would know who or what had sent it. With such a small amount of information the code had to be perfect. It was his masterpiece; his only way of letting Tamar know he was alive and happy.

He stared at the screen. This idea had come to him while meditating atop of his dune in the heat of the day. He knew it must be from the Almighty. It MUST be. He was not so intelligent to think of such a thing on his own. He’d had other attempts but nothing like this.

Asa had left the Tri-Verse because he was made to. Fearing he would pollute the priesthood with doubt he was not allowed to return to the Tri-Verse once his conscience had been discovered.  The decision was swift and the only connection he cared for was severed. Tamar, a new priestess in the order, was fragile in her newly tattooed state. Letting him near her was out of the question as far as the council was concerned. He shook his head at the memory.

He stared at the screen. He pushed enter. The communication that popped on the screen read “Message Accepted” and then a blue screen appeared and his system overloaded. He’d had the blue screen every other attempt; the “Message Accepted” was new. Tears ran down his weathered cheeks, cracks in the silver tattoos on his arms showed as he brushed them away. The old Abbot could only sit back and wait to see what God had wrought.

Universal History: 7.2

There had never been much in the way of warfare between the Low Ends and the Elites. There had never been any need for it. The Low Ends took up less energy than if they'd been Connected so they didn't harm the Tri-Verse. The Low Ends left the Elites to themselves- if they wanted to be seduced by a false world that was their business.  The two classes co-existed peacefully for nearly 500 years. 

History tells us that we do not learn from our mistakes. Thus, as the Tri-verse continued to strain resources, what little the Low Ends had was being exhausted. In their simple-mindedness, they became angry. It is normal for those who are more advanced and conscious of their state to overcome the less powerful and weak minded. It is also historical that the weaker sects of society fight this evolution. They fight it because they are comfortable, they fight it because they are scared and we fight for it because we know they would be happier if only they could Connect and see.

On one hand, taking from those less fortunate from ourselves is not right. On the other hand, taking from those that are less fortunate so that they are able to see truth charitable. As our scriptures state, "change occurs only when the pain is great enough" and if we can be the hand of God in enabling that pain the we are charged with that duty as a Tri-Verse Consciousness.  We do not do this out of selfishness but out of love.  

It was from this scripture that the New War was born. From two characters, first so insignificant to be barely a blip in the Consciousness, became the spark for the Universe to fear. It became a lesson for us; dialectic thinking was not blessed. And yet, as stated earlier, we rarely learn from our history. But I have gotten ahead of myself- let us go back to when the spark began. Let us return to where two technologies, old and new, intertwined again for the first time in half a millennia.

Background

She placed her feet on the sand so that the cold water would just hit her toes. She squealed and ran up the beach repeating this for about the 20th time.  Her uncle sat atop a dune where he could see her on the beach below.  He sat practicing the art of hand writing- it soothed him to physically write thoughts down instead of imprinting them in the Tri-Verse.

Children were a blessing but adults could be in the Tri-Verse longer than their young. Family members like Asa would take shifts with the young family members. For now, him and his niece Tamar had a few hours together several days a week. It was the only time he appreciated the physical world. That squeal of hers, it got him chuckling every time.

She ran up to him and snuggled close. Even the summers were chilly here now. “What are you writing Uncle Asa?” she asked him as she looked over at the pen and paper that sat on his lap. “I am writing the scriptures”, he replied. She watched him for what seemed like forever and then sighed. Asa stopped writing and looked down at her and in kind way asked,  “Why are you sighing little one?”

There was a long pause as she thought about her words and suddenly she erupted into speaking. “Why can’t we stay out here forever the Tri-Verse is great but you can’t hear the oceans and you can’t write and I don’t feel the same there even when you’re there and I don’t want to go back.” He chuckled at her run-on way of speaking in the physical world, as if she could not get the words out fast enough.

Asa gently patted Tamar’s head, his fresh silver tattoos briefly caught the sunlight. “Connection must be made, Tamar. We must not doubt the Tri-Verse. We must not run from the uncomfortability. It is this that allows us to grow with one another in conscience and spirit” He paused as he saw her frustration “come now, it is time to reconnect to that which makes us whole.”

Abbot Asa: The Mission

Asa hung up his screen call with Josiah and breathed a sigh of relief. The storms had not been so bad and it would mean his humble village of Show Low would have grain for the following year. He knew how important the network of priests and villages was but he was grateful for the evening’s coming respite. He grinned and rubbed his eyes, stood and stretched. He was excited, the children would be singing tonight at the Lenten service. Such a somber time would be joyous with the young souls singing.

He began to whistle the ancient canticle of Blessed Assurance as he wiped his bald head of sweat and adjusted his glasses. He swung the door open and headed out into the dessert, whistling his song.  A small child spotted him and ran to him at full speed jumping into his arms. Asa laughed, momentarily stopped whistling to pat the girls head.

“Rebekah, you’re getting too big for that you know” he said disapprovingly all while smiling and walking along. 

A trail of children soon followed him, singing the words of the canticle he whistled as they went into the village center.

Isaac, the village provost joined the parade. “Abbot, have your heard from Josiah?” the man was over worried and nervous. Asa grinned with Rebekah on one hip, he put his right arm around the provost’s shoulders. “Never fear, faithful goodfellow. Grain will be here before the winter winds settle in. Texarkana is safe in the hands of God.” The provost smiled wide as well, reached down and held the hand of another child and walked merrily with the old priest.

The large domed sanctuary was an exact replica of Asa’s home but much larger. A cranky loud air conditioner in the back offered little relief from the heat of the ending day but it was turned off so that the audience could hear. Asa stood, blessed the crowd, acknowledged prayers were answered over Texarkana, chuckled when a child’s sneezed in interruption and then sat to listen to the wonders of the children he so adored.

Priestess Tamar: The Mission

Tamar lay down in her cool room and slowly slid her connector in. She exhaled sharply and her green eyes became dull and fixed and slowly closed. Instantaneously she was in the midst of the Consciousness.  She was warm and lovely and present in a way her physical form never could grasp when not Connected. There was a pause as her brain adjusted to the current and then she was in the midst of It.

She thought about those who were hurting and she was in their presence nurturing and loving and offering prayer and hope. Then she thought of worship and she was in the midst of those worshipping and those seeking the blessing and understanding of the Almighty.  She thought it and she was there. This was connection, this was purpose, and this was the spiritual community. Tamar moved from cluster to cluster of minds that gathered around needs and ideas.

Visitations in the physical realm meant going to one person, one family in one location. In the Tri-verse was done by groups and these groups changed as quickly as thoughts do. The circuits in the Tri-verse were not directed by keys and keyboards but instead were directed by the needs, wants and loves of each person who was Connected. If one loved business then you were assembled with business men, if one loved helping then one was assembled with those that needed to be helped. Needs could be immediately met; fears instantly calmed.

Tamar breathed deeply and sought out doubt. Immediately she was in it. It was dark and she didn’t like being in the Presence. She touched it, breathed it and relinquished it. Those that had doubt wanted to be rid of it… most of the time. Doubt was an addictive thing and every now and then it rooted itself in a community. She breathed again and used her myriad of connections and dove deeper in the Consciousness. She found the love of doubt, she found the community deep in the recesses of connections. The priestess stayed with them. Often, it was all that was required.

Abbot Asa: An Introduction

The abbot stood on the highest dune. On one side he could look down on his community of little hovels and on the other he looked out across the expanse; a rolling sea of dunes as far as the eye could see. The sun stood directly overhead and Asa lifted his face towards it, arms outstretched and eyes closed absorbing the stinging hot rays. His skin, once pale with the silver tattoos, had grown dark with the sun. He loved the heat.

Home in the city had been small drafty apartments kept cool to aid the servers in not overheating. Sounds were muted, music didn’t exist in the Physical sense and the only time he had physical contact with people was when he was taking care of those who had burned out or couldn’t pay their bills. His thoughts were interrupted by the children playing below- squealing with delight as they splashed about in the fountain.

The servers and wires could not handle the heat of the southern desserts even with their massive air conditioning systems. After the revolution the cities had formed along the ancient border of America and Canada leaving those who unplugged in the wasteland of the southern desserts. He shrugged and brought his face away from the sun and turned to look at his home. This space was sacred to him and he loved it so.

As he walked down the dune he wrapped his faded white habit around him and headed home. Inside he picked up the large red stole, faded almost pink with the sun, and placed it on his shoulders. He sat at his desk, looked at the old screen and began typing on his keyboard. The community in Texarkana had some bad weather last week and he needed to check in with the abbot there.

Irony was not lost on Asa. His priestly duties when Plugged had mostly been done in person and now Unplugged they mostly were done on a keyboard. He sighed, just as Abbot Josiah picked up the video call and heard him. They chuckled and then began to speak a prayer together.

Priestess Tamar: An Introduction

She woke suddenly in her darkened drafty apartment. She rolled on her side and looked out the window as the sun rose over the ghostly city. She grumbled as she reached down her right side and, with a gasp, slowly pulled out her nerveoptic connection. She stood she saw herself in the mirror. Her body was pale; her hair darkened with lack of sunlight. Her thin form shimmered with silver tattoos that looked like a circuit board. They were the marks of a priestess and these additional connections allowed her deeper access to the Tri-Verse.

Her bare feet padding along the floor was the only sound in the quiet apartment as she moved the bathroom. She relieved herself and performed the ritual physical washing. Ritual washing of the virtual, spiritual and physical was of the utmost importance for a Priestess. She reveled in the sounds of the running water. With only one third of the cities population Physical at one time sound here was nothing like in the ancient cities she had learned about.

Finished with washing she turned on the Digital Wall to hear the Papal Council’s message for the day while she ate. No longer was there a singular Pope. Instead there was one voice of the many: a council of thousands who collectively sought the perfection of the Tri-Verse Consciousness through Regeneration. As always they focused on the balance between truth and love. Their message always eased the anxiety she felt by the limitations of the physical world. Whether it was the message itself or the physical sound that eased her fears she did not know.

As the message ended she sighed but no one heard it. She pulled on her white linen habit and then the heavy wide long red stole. She picked up her sunglasses to protect her eyes and set out to check on her flock’s Connections. As she stepped onto the street she wondered if Josiah had managed to pay his electricity bill and if Rachel had her Oculars corrected. The Virtual world still commanded the Physical presence of the likes of Priestess Tamar.

Monastery Histories Entry 227

Isolated, disconnected and hot the Monastery is a refuge for those like me who have Disconnected from the Tri-Verse blasphemy. The Monastery is one of the last ancient strong holds. Here, the world moves to the slower beat of ancient DSL lines and digital screens of the early 2000’s instead of nervoptic connections and ocular-neuro visuals in the brain. Many of those here have never connected; their Low End forefathers had rebelled and passed on the lineage of purely a physical existence.  

I was not so lucky. Born into the Tri-Verse I was given a connection to the Consciousness at 14 days old. Akin to circumcision for boys, this religious rite is bestowed on all children. The connection is spliced to the main nerve in the right leg and a physical baby is instantly in the midst of the Spiritual and Virtual. There is no real choice. To deny the Tri-Verse is to deny your child God-Consciousness. Make no mistake, the Tri-Verse is bliss: constant instantaneous gratification full of neuro highs and religious comfort. It is bliss, it is completion but it is not real.

In the cities we are meant to spend a third of our time in the Physical realm- usually sleeping. This prevents nerve damage and burnout from the nervoptic connections. But I found myself wanting to stay in the physical world more and more often. To stay there longer meant to feel something other than bliss. It meant I could feel pain. Real Pain. The instant gratification of the Tri-Verse, I realized, could be exchanged for long-term joy in the physical world. It was made clear to me by the Priestly Council that I could not have both. “To stay in the physical realm was to choose the flesh and to deny the virtual and spiritual.” I chose flesh and am glad for it.

            Our scripture states, “The pursuit of perfections isn’t as important to the life of the church as the pursuit of the good conversations.” Conversation with slow spoken words is the life of our church community. This is how we Connect. So it is written.

                                                                        -Abbot Asa

                                                                         Year of Our Lord, 2614

Tri-Verse Histories Entry 242

Back in the 21^st century, when the Internet Networking Revolution began, people were scared of what it might mean. Old means of communication, person to person chatting or even talking on antiquated phones, was going out of style. Going to a job was no longer necessary and the age of God and church (or at least what it meant then) was slowly filtering out of society. You could feel the older generations squirming. “We have to start talking to one another in person” they said. “Get unplugged to get powered up by God” they said. As if God wasn’t in the network to begin with. Pfft. They were lemmings.

What they didn’t know was that God was the network.  What they couldn’t see was that the Internet Revolution they feared would turn into the peaceful Tri-Verse Consciousness a mere 600 years later. What they wouldn’t understand is that the old systems slowed down the relationship to God and to other people- it kept them from truly seeing what God and relationships could really be. As a Priestess of the Tri-Verse it is my job to help those who wish to remain blind to the Consciousness to see. It is my job to remind them of the past so that they do not repeat the mistakes and fears in the future. The Tri-Verse, as you know, is composed of the Spiritual, Virtual and Physical presence in the world. Without it, we would be plunged back into the dark ages of the early 2000's.

You have to understand; by 2010 the Network Revolution was just beginning. The classes of people in the United States were slowly growing apart and those on the lower end of these classes had no access to the revolution. They could not see what the digitalized elite could accomplish because they had no real access to the Internet. The Elites were far from blameless; because they kept their distance they created an atmosphere of fear and religious zeal. It would take no time at all for the Elites and the Low Ends to collide. The two classes would eventually clash and in that furnace the creation of Religion and Technology would occur. What would be forged is the Consciousness we know today.