He felt himself flying effortlessly through what looked like a tropical paradise or Utopia. There was even music to comfort him with a swaying, relaxing melody as he started to roll and move earthward. He is thinking this is Earth as he continues to roll. He begins to notice a wheat field then he flies lower; now he is zooming along with his arms outstretched through plush vegetation and undergrowth. The entire place looks perfect but as he flies just above the field he begins to pan the landscape and he begins to suspect something is off. The melody in his head begins to pick up on the tempo. Much like traveling through a cornfield maze, he holds his arms to his side and continues to fly through the plush vegetation. He begins to make quick switches and take sharp 90 degree turns and he hears a peak in the music for every turn. The colors seem different but his speed doesn’t allow him to focus on the unusual plants. He gets a quick glimpse of something different in his peripheral vision and the music sharpens with the suspicious growth. The odd branch and some of the plant life look somewhat foreign as he builds speed, keeping with the tempo of the music. He tries to follow the oddity but he is traveling too fast to actually focus in. As he continues to fly there are less turns but an increased speed. Just as he seems to be able to track one of the rare plants he begins to rise quickly above the terrain. He tries with great effort to look back toward the plant life as he is drawn upward and away from the ground. He can make out a huge fern with numerous types of fruit growing from the stemmed center. The initial lift is slow but he begins gaining upward momentum. Some sort of orange-red, banana-like leaves that look like pure ambrosia. The leaves of the fern have more of a blue hue than green.

As his body lifts above the planet he sees the enormity of the field below, speckled with the orange plants that are woven into an intricate pattern of lush growth and colors filling a prism. His mind quickly flashed a picture of this scene in a painting. He had seen this somewhere… but where? The music in his mind began to crescendo and change to the sounds of an orchestra band playing music for a wondrous journey beginning. He had no control over his flight path it seemed but he could look around; his vision then aimed upward at the sky. His flight into the atmosphere provided him with a view of a wondrous horizon filled with numerous moons. Now he knew he was off world. He felt free and excited. There was no fear, just a sense of discovery and amazement filling him.

He noticed dozens of moons at varying depths dotting the horizon. It almost looked like they could be reached with a strong enough will and a pure-hearted jump from the dot-like fields below. He quickly flew past the first moon as he noticed that there were signs of civilized life on this moon. He caught a glimmer of something that looked like the reflective glass of a dome. He noticed the moons were similar in size for the most part but none looked quite the same. The colors were somewhat pastel looking he thought as the music faded with the moons falling off in the distance. He felt a sudden exhilaration inside and suddenly he was taken into some sort of hyper drive mode.

He had to place one hand in front of his eyes as he was now being driven through a blinding sheet of light. Although there was no sense of decreased speed he noted that he had eased into a black chasm where he almost seemed to rest. Everything was dark and other than a few gentle curves in the path he felt as though he was flying in a relatively straight line. The music in his head had stopped and this increased his anxiety. Then he noticed a distant line of white approaching. His body seemed to be drawn toward what looked like a waterfall. It almost looked like a fast flowing river beneath him that led to the waterfall of light. As quick as he noticed the drop of the falls he was headed downward and he flew directly into the gigantic waterfall. Suddenly space seemed void except for one more tiny glimpse of white that he seemed to drift toward. He was still flying at what seemed the speed of light as an inquisitive, gentle music began to play in his head once again.

The journey continued and the music took on a suspenseful tone as he neared the growing white mass. The white mass began to look elliptical and gain in size as well as in movement. He recognized the spatial white mass as the milky-way galaxy. His peripheral view showed other galaxy clusters but his speeding body was targeted toward the spiral of our galaxy. The steaming white lines faded as he broke into the interior of the milky-way galaxy. He began to fly past the recognizable planets of our solar system. His speed, as he was flying past the planets indicated just how far he had traveled.

The music began to slow to a theme song from the Superman movies and he broke through the clouds of our atmosphere. He began to slow but he still seemed to be flying quicker than the off-world flight he had. This made him realize that the moons of the off-world planet were actually much further than the moon of Earth. This helped indicate to him that the planet he just left dwarfed Earth.

He continued down through the clouds to a familiar spot. He was back in Canada. He could now tell he was near the coast somewhere around Halifax. He began to relax even more as though his body knew he was headed home. He headed straight down through the clearing clouds as he saw the familiar steeple and the orange copper roof. Next to it sat his house. He had no control of the flight and tried everything in his mind to try to slow the descent. He tried to get his feet beneath him but to no avail; he continued to fly directly at the roof of his home. The music quickened and picked up an eerie tone. Without so much as a thud or bang he flew right through the roof and into his darkened bedroom. He was now standing near the chair by the window as he focused his eyes and saw that he was looking at his own sleeping body on the bed.

The music blasted out a final percussive beat and Ben bolted upright in his bed. His striped nightshirt was soaked as was his brow. His groggy stare was unfocused and hazy as he sat up in his bed in the darkened room. As he wiped his head he realized he had been startled by a dream; he began to lean toward the bedside lamp to turn it on and help him ring the imagery out of his head. As his hand touched the plastic pin of the lamp, he began to focus and glance in the direction of the chair by the window. Something drew is attention there. The music blasted out one more percussive note as a vision of an alien Gray sat in the chair glaring at him on the bed.

Ben bolted upright in his bed. His chest was glistening with sweat and his shock was slowly replacing itself with a calmer look of reason. “Sweet Jeezes” he muttered as he put his head in his hands and wiped some of the stinging drops away from his eyes.

That was the second time he had the same dream. The first time was disturbing enough but to have the exact same dream within one week was just a little too unsettling. And what the heck was he doing wearing a striped nightshirt in the dream. A wisp of a curl tickled his lip into a smile. Especially when it was the only dream he could remember having in the past little while. The dream was already misting out on him. He had a hard time to remember anything more than planets. He remembered the big planet from the first dream and that there were some other planets or moons and stuff. Oh yeah, he vaguely remembered something about a plant. An orange banana… or something like that. The dream took the dread with it as Ben continued putting on his socks while he dazedly sat on the end of the bed. The small room began filling with day’s light that reflected on his impeccably shined shoes.

He gave his head a shake and sprang to his feet. Slaking out the best stretch in the world felt like the best thing that was going to come out of today. “Keep an open mind boyo”, he mumbled to himself. The whole day lay ahead and anything could happen on such a beautiful day. He didn’t feel it in his heart but he knew that saying it over and over again could help him keep an open mind. After all, an open mind was critical to a positive mental psyche. He chuckled at the PMS joke Father Wade had told him the night before when he approached him for advice. “What’s the difference between a pit-bull terrier and a woman with PMS?” he had asked. After a quick and somewhat uncomfortable pause from the shocking content of the joke from the audience he concluded wolfishly – “The lipstick!” Ahhh, laughter was another good tool to keep on hand he noted to himself.

He had only been at St. Thomas Aquinas for two months but he already felt like he had known Father Wade for a long time. His gentle demeanor belied the compassionate soul that seemed to naturally beam forth. He was the reason the church was still operating at all. There was enough scandal going on in the Catholic Church right now and talk of the older man leaving his flock would definitely cause more than a ripple in the community. He was grateful for his wisdom but still felt unsettled with his new posting. There was nothing wrong with the parish. He knew the problem was with him. What exactly that problem was eluded him but he suspected it was his lack of faith. Not his faith in God because he knew from experience that His God was there and that was as tangible as the sunny day unfolding. His faith in the Church had taken a huge hit and he was still struggling. He had no resentment towards those parishioners who boycotted the regular services. No one questioned Father Wade’s devotion to the parishioners and there was never a mention of personal resentments toward him. The perishing parishioners were taking a stand against policy and unfortunately, even Father Wade knew better than to stand in that firing line.

He had spoken to most everyone who even so much as voiced a concern on doctrine or

Section 1 – The Old Country

Chapter 1. Soldier of Fortune

“Azeus Mohamed,” he replied to the soldier looking at his papers. “It is all I have.” The soldier heard the sincerity in the man’s voice. “You should get to the city, it is safer for you there.” The soldier was shouting to be heard above the exploding shells. Rubble that had settled on him from a previous position near a building trickled from the shoulder flash on his right shoulder. His neck was constantly tucked into his shoulder as though it was the only way to keep the debris of falling rubble and flying dust out of his ear. He motioned to the safe zone with the muzzle of his rifle. “Go now,” ordered the soldier, “before I change my mind.” He had to be harmless, thought the soldier; he stuck out like a prize ham at a bar mitzvah. A gray non-descript tunic was all the man wore. Who wore such a thing these days? And in a war zone!

The man reached out and took back his tattered piece of paper from the soldier who was looking everywhere around him at once. “Bless you,” was the man’s response. He then headed straight toward the incoming bombardment. The soldier was about to make up the two yards between them and redirect the man once he turned his head back and saw the direction he had taken. Just then a shell went off directly between them.

That poor son of a bitch, he thought to himself. That one was right on top if him. Why hadn’t he stopped the man? The fool didn’t even have his papers in order. He could have detained him; at least he wouldn’t have caught that shell. Poor bastard, he thought.

The smoke was clearing and the soldier could see the silhouette of the man standing on a pile of bricks and crumbling mortar. The man was motionless and facing him. He could see a silly smirk cross the man’s placid face. His eyes were as clear and white as the smoke he had seen coming from the stacks at the plant where he grew up as a boy. Funny how he could almost smell the grass they used to roll in. He thought the brightness of the man’s eyes was that bright as well; they were as bright and as warm as those days as a boy. And it was weird how clear the man’s soft voice came through above all the noise. It was like the seagulls cry coming in from far away, above the roaring steam and the noise of industry and traffic. He could see the seagulls wafting on the horizon as he lay there in his soft grassy bed.

A faint, almost inaudible, thud caused the image to shimmer in his mind. “Was that a backfire,” he wondered? Perhaps the delivery truck carrying the heating pellets needed some maintenance.

Kaboom! A splitting thunderclap filled his ears. He snapped to with a jolt. That wasn’t backfire! He went to dive for cover as his mind snapped out of the daydream. His hands reached out but his body didn’t move. He was sat in a small dugout with bricks on three sides of him. It was some old fireplace that stayed partially standing while the rubble fell all around it. That blast must have knocked him on his butt and given him a knock on the head was all he could think. That is what you get for daydreaming. He no sooner finished the thought and got to his feet when the full scope of what just happened registered.

He was in his little pile of rubble all right, but this makeshift bunker suddenly seemed surreal. He was no longer at his post. The building and the gate where he stood talking to the stranger were now about 30 meters away from where he had been standing.

His mind grasped for logic. How? He started to pat himself down frantically, looking for some clue. This was impossible! His uniform had no new holes in it. No shrapnel was protruding from any of his body parts. He felt great in fact. He felt rested and better than he had for a long time.

He stood on the mound that saved him, his neck no longer crooked. He removed his helmet and tossed it down to the ground on the same spot his rifle had fallen when the explosion happened. He looked to his former post only to see a huge crater. Everything in a 50 meter radius had been more or less flattened. His bunker was the only thing around that could be considered still standing. Fortunately it was on a 45-degree angle facing away from the blast direction.

“Bless you,” resounded through his ears. A tear streaked down his encrusted, grimy face. The hardened soldier’s face softened and he turned toward his home. He no longer wanted this fight; he wanted no part of this or any other fight for that matter. He gazed through the rubble as he passed the spot that he last saw the stranger. Nothing. Could he…? The thought could barely complete itself. Could he have survived? There was nothing at all! No clue whatsoever that someone could be laying in the path of this devastation. That didn’t mean he wasn’t hit. Maybe he had somehow survived. He hoped against hope.

He sat on a concrete block with the bent rebar sticking out for him to lean on. He just needed to rest. That was when he began sobbing. They started as deep, intermittent chest heaves that he tried to control. The face of the smirking stranger flashed in his mind and control gave way to a full out flood of tears. He hated his weakness but he was overwhelmed. Why should he care so much for a fool? That is what he was, just some fool who had no business in such an area. But that didn’t comfort him and his soul continued to leak from his eyes while his head hung in his shaking hands.

The hand on his shoulder startled him so bad that he fell over the concrete block he was perched on. He still had his hand on the rebar as he started to scramble for his feet. “The stranger had somehow made it!” His hopeful gaze was met with a silhouette backlit by the sun’s glare. He managed to secure his knee firmly enough to remove his hand from the rebar and block out the sun’s glare. He could already sense the let down before the voice reached him.

“Are you alright?” the other soldier asked. “Do you need a medic?”

“No, I’m alright,” he replied, “I think I just need a church.” Maybe he could salvage some of his dignity with a little humor.  What was he doing?  He was a soldier, not a crybaby.

The older soldier helped him to his feet. “You are the luckiest man alive!” he said with an astonishment in his voice that reflected the younger soldier’s own disbelief. “Actually, you are the second lucky man I’ve met today. This simple fellow just marched by us with the silliest grin on his face. He walked right out of the smoke from that last blast.”

The younger soldier stared at him with a crease forming at the corner of his lips. He was looking up to a clear blue sky and noticed the tranquility of the sun and a few seagulls flying off in the distance. The smile was full on his face as the older soldier continued. “Nothing on but a tunic! Can you believe that? A tunic! He won’t be so lucky if he keeps heading into those hills.”

The younger soldier looked at him and interjected “He has no need for worry. He will not be harmed by us, we do not have that power.” His voice was rich and sure of itself. His confidence sent a shiver down the older soldier’s back.

“Come, I’ll take you to the hospital,” offered the older man. The younger soldier placed his hand on the shoulder of his older compatriot. The pain of battle lifted from his body and he felt years being given back to him as he peered at this young soldier. The older man felt the warmth flow through every part of his body like the warmth of a strong drink making a trail to his stomach. He almost felt… glee. The smile on his face reflected the surge of goodness he felt flowing through him.

“We don’t need any more medicine today,” stated the younger man. Both men knew this to be true. “I am going home to my family and away from this war. You should be with your family too. Go with peace in your heart.”

“We must tell of this thing that has happened here. I will tell my village of this and I will travel to other villages to tell them of this great thing,” promised the older man.

“Accept skeptics as you would believers. Perhaps then, our neighbors can be a part of our new family.” The young soldier smiled and turned to the south to start his pilgrimage.

The older soldier lowered his rifle muzzle to the ground. He took the helmet off and started to the west. “It will be nice when our families meet,” he thought.

Chapter 2. Place of Healing

The pain and misery hung in the air with the dust and smoke that comes with recent artillery fire. The battle had settled into a moan that was occasionally stirred into a scream by an overworked medic probing at a gaping wound. The man in the grey tunic walked past the group herded by the entry. The makeshift doorway couldn’t be constricted enough to stem the flow of staff, patients and visitors. This facilitated matters for the most part because for every harrowed family member that was allowed through to impede medical care, it also let the flow of the intelligence agencies to speedily access the patients and be on their way. This also tended to cut down on the number of patients that one had to attend to. Of course the staff protested about the atrocities and the authority of these agents but the lesson had been learned and the staff knew to temper their protestations.

Any patient with the wrong lapel or uniform would be carted off to the morgue by the staff if the agents were distracted, or on the rare occasion, not present. That tended to happen during the initial rounds of battle – before the mayhem reached the makeshift portal of the emergency room. The morgue was actually the operating and recovery room for the so-called rebels. The global terrorist threat had given the government agencies wide discretionary powers and allowed the agents to take over triage operations. Namely, the rebels were considered terrorists and were taken from the hospital immediately. The staff knew that most of these poor souls would never need to worry about after care. Even those casualties that made it to this makeshift operating room would know it as the morgue due to the limited supplies available for treating their wounds. But that didn’t stop the work of trying.

The hospital had closed the morgue the year before due to supply and demand. The reason was that more space was needed to handle the overflow of corpses and family members seeking closure. They had opened a separate premise around the corner, formerly a cold storage room at the back of a warehouse. There were rumors that the other areas of the warehouse were used to interrogate the rebels; no one had ever seen a hint of medical supplies at the warehouse. Problems sometimes arose if a patient was claustrophobic but faced with the alternative of staying on the ward they soon learned to conquer their phobia.

Dr. Vessemi deposited the empty morphine syringe into the blue container and looked up just in time to see the stranger in the grey tunic heading straight into the hallway that led to the old morgue. He quickly marked off the administered shot on the patient’s chart and left the chart swinging on its tether as he hurried to catch up to the man in the tunic.

“Hey!” he shouted to the man. He was careful to focus his voice and project it forward. He looked over his shoulder to the main floor of the ward to see if anyone had heard his yelp. There was no one alerted thankfully. The stranger simply turned toward the approaching doctor, smiled, and pushed his way into the now swinging morgue door. Dread began to seep into the doctor as he hurried his pace.

The doctor thought he looked harmless enough but he reached into his lab coat for the syringe of narcol. He would simply tranquilize him and figure things out from there, unless the man was already pointing a pistol when he pushed through those doors.

“Have you any food?” inquired the plainly clad man from between the two empty gurneys.

“Uh, yes.” Replied the doctor in what seemed to him an entirely guilty tone. “Not much,” he said clearing his throat that had enough tension to start him squawking like a parakeet, “but we can find you something I’m sure.” A quick pan of the room relaxed the doctor; at least nothing obvious jumped out to indicate the class of patient being held in the make shift recovery room. The day nurse was at her desk in the dimly lit corner with a pale mask washing over her face. The usual tired gray look was covered with a coating of white wash. One of the slabs was slightly ajar but the stranger didn’t have an angle to notice it.

“Come with me,” the doctor gestured toward the hallway door, “ the cafeteria is this way.” That sounded genuine enough he thought to himself.

“You do well to honor your oath.” The tone of the stranger was almost as curious as his words. The doctor felt his pulse in his throat. Did he see the slab with the recuperating patient? The words didn’t really sound like a veiled threat. Could he be an agent? If he was, he was very disarming. He felt the syringe in his pocket once again.

That was being replaced with a calm that betrayed the situation the doctor faced. He couldn’t place him, and these days that was a prerequisite to work between the two wards. A preacher perhaps, albeit somewhat non-conformist judging from his attire. That or a psyche consult who lost his way from across the street. That was the only other medical facility that could host the morgue business and most patients. The old nuthouse had never been so quiet. The residents and patients, the living sort anyway, were non confrontational with the new inpatients being shipped in en mass. Perhaps the madness of war was a sobering effect on the mentally ill. Leaving the mentally infirm with dead or dying people had a way of replacing their own insane impulses. Either way, the stranger had him intrigued more than scared; he was still apprehensive though.

The man simply held his hands in front of himself, clasped loosely. He seemed oddly at ease with the doctor as the two men walked up the hallway, past the swinging doors of the morgue. They walked past the entrance of the emergency room that the stranger had entered the hallway from. They continued to walk toward the red sign at the opposite end of the hall. Just before the exit was a hollow in the wall with steps leading upward.

“Our bistro is on the second,” the doctor instructed as he motioned up the steps. He realized that he still had his hand on the syringe in his lab coat pocket. He took the hand out and used it to support the stranger’s elbow as they began their ascent.

The stranger, with his right hand on the rail, that ran the wall with the steps, turned to the doctor, who was on the step below him. “I am fine, your kindness gives me strength.” The doctor released the man’s elbow and climbed with him. As odd as this man was, the doctor had no desire to question him about his ethnicity or his political affiliations.

They walked into the cafeteria and the stranger smiled. His delight was both apparent and unchecked. The bistro consisted of a soda and snack food vending machines. The cage at the counter was closed but apart from the two columns holding the cage in place, there was nothing left to the south wall where the food lines once passed. The view of the busy servers with their hairnets was replaced with a view of the carnage in the inner city. It provided a macabre setting yet offered a sense of ease inside the walls. The remaining half dozen tables, covered in red-checkered tablecloths, were covered in plastic except for the one in the corner that was occupied. The patrons of the war torn café appeared to be staff. The doctor offered a wave of greeting but his face offered them reassurances about the dining partner accompanying him. Everyone had their own food from home and seemed to be as comfortable here as they would be in their own living rooms.

The doctor reflected on how this effect seemed to be the great paradox of war. The insanity elevated, the city excavated and the extreme absurdity of this setting became the norm. How could civilized people be so accepting of such diversity and perversity? That is what this was, perverse. The thought was broken.

“You look comfortable,” the stranger seemed to muse to the two nurses at the table closest to them. “Your cuisine is second to none.” Polite smiles were exchanged and none of them seemed forced. The doctor was still standing and trying to fish out enough change for a snack. He hadn’t originally anticipated getting the stranger to break bread with him; he merely made the dining date to remove the stranger from the morgue.

“Perhaps our friends have enough to share a few morsels,” suggested the stranger.

The doctor offered an apologetic look at the diners for the bold assumption the stranger made. “Why don’t we eat together,” suggested the nurse wearing the Talia label.

“Splendid!” declared the stranger. He seated himself across from Talia leaving only the one chair next to her. The doctor sat in the empty chair before he noticed that it was a little closer to the nurse than it was centered in the vacant place at the table. A warm blush appeared to show itself off on Talia’s cheeks but was not so noticeable when compared to the shade the doctor was now sporting on his cheeks. No one spoke of it directly.

“A sort of heart surgery, No?” the stranger joked. This placed a smile on everyone’s face.

“Please have some soup and a biscuit,” offered the other nurse. Sheena, as her nametag suggested, slid the lid of her thermos over to the stranger.

“Yes please,” replied the stranger thankfully as he accepted the meal. He broke the biscuit in half and offered it to he doctor. Before the doctor could finish his refusal gesture, the stranger quipped “Come now, you cannot live on love alone.” The doctor accepted. This seemed to be the quickest route to derail the embarrassment he felt. He might have protested and tried to quell the stranger’s innuendos toward his awkward nature around Talia but this was as close to the beautiful nurse as he had gotten to her since she started here the year before.

Talia leaned closer to the doctor with a sweet sugared square. As the doctor forced the crumbs of the tea biscuit into his mouth he raised his index finger to keep the waiting square in place, at the end of Talia’s slender reach. “Perhaps we should make this a regular event?” chided Talia.

“I would prefer that to these coin grabbing machines,” he agreed. Not your best line he thought to himself.

“I must get back to my burn patient,” Talia said as she tidied her spot at the table. “I wish I had more time.”

The stranger handed his make shift cup back to the other nurse. “Thank you young lady.” As he turned from Sheena toward Talia he began to smile. It was a wily smile that Talia recognized; she had seen her mischievous little brother with just such a grin many times. The stranger was very disarming and kind thought the doctor.

“A pleasure Mrs. Vessemi.”

Her wide-eyed smile betrayed her words. “Behave,” she protested amusedly.

The nurses headed towards the stairway chatting excitedly with the odd giggle getting away from them. The doctor merely looked at the stranger, who was already on his feet, with a quizzical look. “What is it that brought you here?”

“This is a place of healing is it not? I was hungry and my body needed sustenance and this seemed like a logical place to come for food. Plus, I seem to have an affinity with medical people. We think alike, though some have an ego to outdo even God’s handiwork.”

So he wasn’t a nut job. “Have you been a preacher for long?”

“I was born to be a preacher of sorts,” the stranger mused.

Their conversation was interrupted by a crackling noise that seemed to come from the walls. First in front of them toward the door then another squawk came from the adjacent corner of the cafeteria. “That must be for me,” said the doctor as he swept his arms across the table to clear the crumbs. “The intercom is still not working.”

“How do you know it is for you?” inquired the stranger.

“Because the other doctors are still on the floor. I am the only one they would be looking for. I must hurry back, we may have an unwanted visitor.” He didn’t have time to explain to the stranger. The use of the intercom usually indicated that there was an agent on the way to the hospital and that only gave him a few minutes to get back. When he ran towards the stairs, the stranger was still standing by their table.

As he ran down the hallway he saw the pale nurse peering her head from the morgue doors. He signaled for her to lock the room down with the crossed forearms signal that they had included in their own little code. It was understood from this order that she would instruct the wounded rebels of the possible visitor and then she would lock the room down. This was usually enough to deter the agents from wanting to look inside. She would leave the room locked but would go outside the room and prepare to evacuate the wounded through the window to an empty basement in the next building at the back of the hospital. If she, and the patients, heard the high-pitched feedback signal on the intercom instead of the squawking signal they just heard, the evacuation had begun. The doctor, who was always the liaison between the agents and the hospital staff or patients, would simply pretend that he was tracking down the nurse with the keys to the ward. This should give the wounded enough time to execute their escape. He turned to the left and entered the emergency room.

As he entered the room he immediately saw Talia tending to her patient. It seemed that his eyes were drawn to her no matter what else was going on around him. She glanced up to look at the intravenous drip hooked into her patient and looked his way. It was almost as though she sensed his gaze on her. Her enigmatic smile drew its mate from his face before he even knew it was happening. The moment was passed and he was heading to the main reception area where the usual stream of traffic was milling. He didn’t go right to the door; he didn’t want to seem eager to greet the agent. That might be seen as a sign of anxiety and that could tip him to the fact that something in this hospital was causing them to be anxious. Dealing with sick people was the normal order of the day around here, that didn’t cause medical staff to appear anxious so that is what he did. He attended to an amputee near enough to the entrance that he could be called to attend to matters of security when the official requested it of him.

Again, his eyes found Talia. This time she was talking to the stranger. He didn’t waste any time getting down the stairs either. The fear suddenly struck. What if this poor deluded preacher man was with the wrong side? It didn’t occur to him that he could be a rebel preacher. The calling didn’t stop him from being on the wrong side as far as the agents were concerned. Even a man of the cloth could have knowledge that would aid their interrogations. The fear that went with that thought was eased as he noticed the stranger looking straight at him. The smile on his face made the doctor chuckle at the silliness of the stranger. He noticed the stranger’s eyes, almost at once. All the way across the room and he could see the tranquility he automatically beamed across the room to him. A dim room suddenly seemed to have a warmth and brightness of its own.

He was shattered by the sound of a breaking glass off to the corner. A nurse had knocked something off a stand and it broke every nerve in the doctor. He normally was guarded by surprise but that shook him. He went over to help clean the mess up and calm the frazzled nurse down.

The commotion was settled in the corner when suddenly a loud crash came from the main entrance area. When the doctor looked up he was shocked to see the stranger making an exaggerated run for his escape. The agent who was sitting in the midst of the surgical instruments and saline solution that was now a puddle on the floor scurried to his feet. It looked like a cartoon character spinning on the spot as he hung on to his hat with one hand and braced himself with the other on the counter of the desk. When the traction caught beneath him he sped off after the stranger.

The staff gathered around the surgical instruments on the floor. The doctor looked to Talia and asked her what had happened. She just stood there with a look of disbelief. It wasn’t something he would expect from Talia. Not because she was so beautiful but she also happened to be one of the best trauma nurses he had ever worked with. She wasn’t given to panic or frail in the face of danger. He’d even seen her disarm a man with a bedpan once. It wasn’t a pretty picture, he recalled, but highly effective. Sheena blurted out first. “Your friend pushed the agent into the cart. He just shoved him and knocked him over!” The others began to chime in creating a vocal clattering that did nothing for human comprehension.

Why would the stranger do such a thing? He must have been one of the rebels after all. Funny, he thought, he didn’t see the stranger as being a runner. He was startled out of his daydream by the hand on his shoulder. Talia was at the end of that hand. She looked like she was regaining her composure but still a little shaken. “Did something happen? Did he take something and run out? Did he hurt you Talia?”

She was shaking her head to stop his racing mind but that wasn’t enough. She grabbed his wrist and led him to the table her burn victim was laying on. They reached the table and she simply stood there. He didn’t understand! Nothing looked out of place, her patient sat up with his weight on his elbows. Looking at her wasn’t going to cut it. “What is it Talia?”

She still didn’t answer. She simply reached out and gingerly pulled the sheets back and away from her patient’s leg. The leg had been unbandaged and the skin beneath it looked a healthy pink. The doctor stood there gaping.

“He was scheduled for surgery today,” reported Talia in a quivering voice. “He was to have this leg removed. The burns we…” She just trailed off of whatever it was she was trying to say. The doctor stopped listening and looked back to the amazing leg.

“I felt a burn. More of a warm light actually. It passed through my leg when that man touched it.” He motioned to the door where the stranger had just bolted out. “Am I going to be OK?”

“Yes, I think you are going to be just fine.” He wasn’t sure if the burn patient even heard all of that. He was walking toward the door to see if he could see anything. Did the agent catch his new acquaintance? Was this for real? “What in God’s…?” The huge hand grasping his shoulder rattled the words back down into his throat. He saw a small group of patients getting themselves dressed. They weren’t ready to leave, their injuries weren’t life threatening but they should not be leaving the hospital! He tried to squirm away from the hand on his shoulder but it clutched him even tighter. He was a little surprised when he turned around to face his restrainer and saw a soldier, an older man, unabashedly holding him with an innocent enough looking smile. The soldier was about 40ish and stood almost six feet; his grip belied his size – and his age. “What,” the doctor snapped out at his temporary captor! He was grateful it was not the agent.

“Was that Azeus,” he asked the doctor? “Who was that man chasing him?”

“That was agent Lebowski. He was supposed to be here tomorrow for an inspection but showed up a day early. What a day for your ‘Azeus’ to show up here!” The doctor noted that his tone was a little angrier than he meant for it to be. The anger was at Azeus but not for the commotion that he just caused but for the fact that he had an agent chasing him through the streets. It wouldn’t be long before they had him cornered and hauled away. “Why the heck did he have to show up today of all days?”

“My guess is he was trying to get your agent to chase him. I think he is without fear that one. You needn’t worry about your friend, it seems it takes more than a simple army to stop him. Well, I must be on my way home. Take care Doctor.” The soldier simply smiled and turned away with a smile on his face.

“Why would a soldier find the need to smile in all this confusion and morbidity?” He felt a smile wash over him and he chuckled reflectively. The room seemed lighter. It wasn’t noticeably brighter; it seemed less oppressive. The air no longer seemed heavy from holding space for death to hover. The gray tones began to flush through with hints of pink and the occasional full out blush on the faces of both staff and patient alike. One of those in full blush was suddenly jolted out of his peripheral vision and caused him to draw his neck and head back an inch or two in surprise.

“I have a message from your new friend” she spoke softly. The averted stare and frivolous giggle told the doctor that he most likely sported the same color tones as the radiant Talia. He didn’t care.

“This truly is a place of healing,” she continued softly as her hands, clasped lightly together in an open palm, motioned over her heart. She attempted to imitate the placid nature and demeanor of the stranger to indicate that it was indeed his message. It seemed that she was restraining something. Something sparkling in her eyes seemed to belie the quiet philosophical voice she was imitating.

Her smile broke wide open and the two were suddenly nothing more than teeth and tears as their heads lollygagged fluidly; they fell onto each other’s shoulders laughing raucously. Their friends and patients all looked to them beaming smiles along with the occasional chuckle offered up as approval.

The doctor placed his arm around her shoulders and pulled Talia in close to his side firmly. She leaned into him with her arms across her chest and her clasped hands covering her chin and mouth to hide the beaming smile stenciled on her face. He thought for an instant that he should have probably used the moment to steal a kiss but it was not that kind of moment. He knew it was not his shyness stopping him. He felt sure that Mrs Vesemmi knew this as well. They would kiss and share many moments in their future. He looked down assuredly and followed her stare to where the stranger had run out of the hospital. He felt like everything was all right now.

Chapter 3 started – waiting for feedback… is project worthwhile???

Me and my baby been goin’ quite long

Long enough I had to make this song

It started off as hard to write

Cause we don’t think we got it right

Half the time one of us is gone

Yet spend some time still bein’ alone

We may go separate ways at times

But when we don’t we close them blinds

God I don’t know what I ever did

You even gave us a perfect kid

All we had to do was ask one night

Baby – remember how it all went right

I don’t much care who’s right or wrong

Another reason I wrote this song

You brought me up to being free

And it came with a lifetime guarantee

Baby I won’t always get it right

Or sometimes come in late at night

But I’ll always be true and kind

And try to stay in my right mind

I promised to take the good with bad

And now I’m happy more than I’m sad

Chorus:

My looks ain’t really no big thing

But I’m asking you if you’ll wear this ring

The price ain’t really no big thing

Baby you are my everything

Your folks think I’m no big thing

But I’ll do more than simply sing

Even if my song ain’t no big thing

I pray we never stop this thing

It ain’t really no big thing

Baby we are my everything

Action to reaction

It kinda makes sense

Now fire the advisors

Lest they sit on the fence.

Science and religion

For once they agree

It’s the end of the earth

But just for you and me.

The ones doing the harm

Are the ones left in charge.

They may last a bit longer

But will burn by and large.

While we hope for the best

And live through the worst

Quiet science will fail us

And religion will be cursed

So the pen scribes idly

Much to no avail

Ignore the internal screaming

Act surprised when we fail.

So now we are played

Told to look toward Mars

While we can’t afford the petrol

For our green and red cars.

So many things seem normal

“As they appear” at least

Yet to look at the man

We cannot see the beast.

Satan’s game is politics

It corrupts within and without

Making decisions against your gut

Pay off that nagging doubt.

We ask for exact for instances

Yet we really don’t want to look

Because famine, floods, SARS and AIDS

Are already covered in The Book.

Afghanistan, Iran and terror

Have been around for years

But run us low on oil reserves

And they’ll box some friggin ears.

The war machine needs money and fuel

Economy drives the wheels

They’ll burn the air and scorch the soil

Just do whatever they feel.

Taking over holy lands

Because they say there is a need

And even I find it hard to see

Any reason other than greed.

Extra snow -hey where does that go?

What came down will go back up

The cycle repeats, it has to complete;

Are we overflowing our cup?

They need a place for garbage now

And soon fresh water to drink

I live next door and worry for sure

They’ve got us on the brink.

Don’t dare talk about taking arms

Or constitutional rights

Terrorists were the catalysts

For the earth’s final plight

NATO or KYOTO

We’re told to get bent

Now Satan is chilling in Alaska

They’ve already set up tents.

There is no way to get back to the day

Greed has burnt that bridge

This talk of space is just to distract

Attention from failing our kids.

If they cross the globe to get their oil

They’ll burn us off with greed

Whatever they want, all the spoils

Will be theirs once they succeed.

We all thought it was later

But sooner it got started

Satan lays ruin, acts like a buffoon

And claims he’s tender hearted.

If you don’t believe in miracles,

expect a coincidence today!

Yell all at once, now you’ve a hunch

God works in this way

You won’t see a hand coming through the clouds

And the only voice you may hear

Will be the screams of man’s lifted voice

“My God what have we done?”

She’s an early riser

Well, sometimes late

An all night performer

Lord, what a state.

Clothes in a heap

Body still neat

Gravity wins out

Rinse, then repeat

Sooner than later

Smoke still inside

Take your bow

Or Run and hide

Top of her game

Looking to blame

Hold your flame

Here’s your fame

A bird could sing

Broke its wing

Now she’s hurtin

Get her a sting

From fame and glory

What a sad story

Her name carved in stone

Says “She died alone”.

I thought at once a ‘flutterby’

Its motion struck my brain

Because butter can not fly

I use this proper name

It fluttered free in the wind

Wafting in the sun

Beauty blossomed and I thought

Hey God, you got that one.

Now I pray to our Lord

For fear of being scorched

And sadder yet the butterfly

Sadly gets besmirched.

Watch it close

Protect its fate

If he lives

We change our fate.

An effect named after it

History it will record

We’ll go like the dinosaurs

But by our own accord

We lit the flame

We deserve the blame

As I watch I start to cry

Good-bye little Butterfly.

History spent,

no lessons learned.

Nations strong

& Nations burned.

Experience is

wisdom based.

Same mistakes,

lessons erased.

The world is too large to administer from one continent. The same failings of the past will come to reveal that behind half-truths, an evil with a new mask speaks to once proud nations through puppetry.

It can only seem strange if we close our eyes to the whole truth.

A system of justice not being applied, no matter the cause,

has toppled the leader and spun the game to include all players present.

We will remember this as the end of something and not a great beginning to anything.

Neither rhythm, rhyme nor reason can hide what is behind the curtain of tyranny.

And the players that stand on the stage are not the main players.

The stage hands are lighting the way to hold stealth to their cause

and when the resources are won and the labels lost

we will all find that the show cannot detract from our loss.

Hold your own resources close and don’t let the charlatans blind you with their wares.

Snake oil is all they offer and the quick fix is just a band-aid to mask suffering.

Toil for your good graces and your efforts will be rewarded as a reflection

And though the puppets may mimic the effort they won’t be able to sustain it.

The curtain will be opened and reveal the players and producers.

Their failing world will be upstaged by the individual effort makers and good will shine on the marquee. New World Everything, the old one is broke!

The carnage will be pushed and agendas ignored. There is still killing in the name of our Lord. Wait for the surge and you will be swept in; stand your ground while it is still yours to claim. Most pride is false and it comes before the fall so don’t wait for an extraction. Join our concern before we are forced to let go our prideful ways. Be a volunteer, not a victim.

Anything that makes us civil, that doesn’t allow interference or harm to another human being seems a good rule of thumb. Apply this internally and let the rest of the world begin it’s healing. This is not altruistic but inherent to our species. The time is now! Indifference is one thing but personal indifference is too low a standard for people, never mind giving into the organizational security blanket. The security is gone, or hadn’t you noticed.

Our nation is merely a reflection of each one of us. Stop the tyranny and interference now. Altruistic goals can only be reached by people who are striving for them. Someone smiling and agreeing with you about saving the planet but not acting upon it is not helping. We don’t want sympathetic people, especially politicians. We don’t need these obstructive people. Too many agendas convolute the one true objective. Humanity is doomed, not just America, not Russia, Britain, Africa, China nor any one nation independently. Does it take the notion of some Hollywood themed alien invasion to start seeing each other as brothers and sisters?

Don’t let frustration stop you. You have more rights than your politicians. You have more rights than you deserve. The planet trumps you. If you need a higher power or something to believe in, believe in your world. It is your breath, your life. It holds the secrets of healing, more so than you could know. Stop poisoning your mind with chemicals and drowning your fears in booze. Watch the children playing in their summer shirts and hats, or watch them burn. It isn’t too late but it is close.

Ivory towers are durable but can also serve as sensible prisons. This is not a rich man’s world! Don’t let the perception of power and politics deflect your effort. We know what Earth wants and needs and it is time, past due time in fact, to provide for our planet first. This is our priority; this is our legacy. Don’t let the fear of some self-fulfilling prophecy stop you from your effort. All words are from man. There are lessons to be learned from the written word but interpretations that lead to violence and destruction always should be considered non-spiritual. This isn’t about belief systems; this is about survival. You cannot be spiritual at an altruistic level at all times, that is for a spiritual plane. Let’s get our feet dirty. Let’s get our hands dirty. Let’s save our planet. Grow with this directed spirit. Earth is looking for a few good men and women.

Will you join our effort? Will you watch Earth die? One of these options involves no work or commitment on your end; the other unfortunately takes a wee bit of energy. We want all nations, especially those that aren’t involved with the KYOTO Accord, to hear the message. Our message is simple, Stop Killing Our Planet Earth!

This is where we begin drawing the line, at luxury vs. necessity. Begin with industry assignations to separate areas that require a product or sub product to exist comfortably. Do we need all the things that are being produced? Have a look in your junk drawer if you aren’t sure. This isn’t an easy task for sure. There are areas of necessity such as communications, health, etc to be considered. The idea is to reduce manufacturing. Scale back everything but not necessarily dry the economy in the process, just redirect the economy. Everything has to be green based, everything! Lots, or allotments as they were called in England, could be used to grow vegetables for local consumption. That seems like a good grant for municipal and provincial governments to get involved in I think. Get out more during the day and reduce the heat in your home. Remove all the fuses from the panel for two hours each day. Walk to work if you can or carpool if you can’t. There are limitless possibilities that I haven’t even considered but a brainstorming session with your friends might spark a few ideas. Don’t be shy to talk about it because soon enough we will all be talking about the effects we are facing. This means more than a few times a year when we get heavy snow or severely cold or hot weather.

This is meant to spread to individuals, such as is claimed to be the birth of Christianity, which didn’t start in America. What do you think they will do when they need fresh water and a place for their refuse? Remember, America crossed the globe for oil once theirs ran low! The war machine cannot be stopped without putting the planet in peril. It cannot be stopped internally either or the power that they have, and perceive to have, will diminish. Take your first green steps. There are enough of us little brothers to stop Big Brother!

We need to start now. Do you need every creature comfort to survive? Where will you go when your basement floods? What will you do when half this town is covered in water? Never mind going and polluting Mars; first, lets fix Earth!

SKOPE = Stop Killing Our Planet Earth

A narcissist once told me

That I looked pretty good

I was standing next to a mirror

What a lift we got

Now I look for mirrors

I compliment folks too

What could be purer?

Boy I look good in blue

I see things around me

With my blinders firmly held

Pride shines brightly in the mirror

Substance doesn’t really matter

For the quick exchange

The casual stare

Outside is the measure

Inside, hell who cares

A duck on a pond

A tragic song

Beauty is really a social thing

Outside in we are empty

A baby is actually ugly

The measure is within

Your thoughts are given you

Conformity wears a grin

Stop looking with your eyes

Open up your mind

Push past all your fears

That’s when you will shine.

Talk to my arse cause

my head is busy.

Is earth spinning faster?

We’re all in a tizzy.

Talk to the parents

Not the latch key kids

We think shaken baby before we think SIDS.

Talk to the holy

But you better talk loud.

Altruism is easy with your head in the clouds.

Talk to politicians

And their “political will”

They’re duly elected

So we can just chill.

Talk to the planet

You may be ignored.

It’s burnt, bent and broken

NOW we are abhorred!

So turn talk into action

Though it maybe too late

Stop burnin our air;

Don’t open the gate.