They believed to have meaning in their violent way. We should ponder that. Religious ones, their purpose is defined by meaning in death. Their motivation and commitment is in death. Well, they believe, they don’t discover, Copeland. They kill, and they obey.
Their illusion of meaning is outside of themselves, outside of life, without logic. It’s dependent on other people, on religion. By giving over command of their consciousness they allow themselves to be fueled by a hatred of existence, of life, and a hatred of people unlike themselves.
They glorify their own death in the name of their God—who praises them for it. To them, it raises importance of an otherwise meaningless life. Such meaning can uniquely be defined by the source of their faith: God. So, meaning is given to their actions by God, defined by the will of God. Meaning was given away, Copeland, and lost. Giving meaning away to a God that promises a return in death is some type of abstraction that reduces their existence to that of a passionate robot succumb to absurdity, with volition destroyed. It’s destruction of consciousness.
Life is deemed meaningless by a religious standard, to which all humanity must surrender. Then, by rite, as god’s true messengers, they, who conveniently have yet to sacrifice their life for the glory of God, are assigned to rule the enslaved. It’s a holy convenience.
They act in accordance to the will and ideology of a violent God that is known to them by the edict of other men. It’s absurdity in its purest form, Copeland.
Delusion of these terrors is purposeful, self prescribed. In faith, they’re able to take pleasure in murder, rape, theft and destruction. And through an abandonment of consciousness, pleasure is found in their destruction of life. It’s justified as means to a true purpose—an absolute, tyrannical rule over people in the name of god for an existence that is the pleasure of god. That is their wretched way, Copeland. Their true cause is to rule the enslaved by force—to rule by force for pleasure. They bleed humanity that suffers under their sword and they live off the sapped blood. All this is done in the name of an omniscient, unfathomable greatness of God.
Man is dangerous and unfortunately sometimes very effective in the business of destruction under such delusion as seeking mortality for the glory of religion. This is how they take pleasure in the plunders of war. Meaning to them is sanctioned by an unknowable god. Yes, like those complaining in the cafe of ruins. As Kagan said: They search for the meaning outside of consciousness—when meaning is intrinsic. Here, we discovered self-determined meaning. Yet, the terrors find meaning in neither.
It’s unknown to me the exact origin of those who waged war, who brought destruction to our homeland. They’re from many countries, as far as I know. Even our own. I know that their nature is equal to the religious terrors and they are commanded by terrorist kings. They could be one and the same. They are anthrax in the air, hordes propagated by infecting death upon the world.
Yes, I will fight them. My hatred for them is difficult to express. I would say this: Imagine ten thousand, or a hundred thousand of them standing in a field of flowing yellow grasses talking amongst themselves or praying—devising ways in which they would destroy humanity. Their voices murmuring in one accord. And there is a platform, like one of ours—a sentry stand of sorts—situated at a slight elevation to view the field. I would stand on the platform and call out for their attention. They would turn around wondering what message I had to share with them. And I would have one to share. It would begin with the sound of a fifty caliber round racking into a chamber. Their final message would be delivered in the tongue of Hellfire. It would speak its meaning that anyone could understand: Death. If there were a million there standing, I would raze them all and their ideology with them.
Then meaning could exist in society, without religion or aggression toward others. It could exist where people are able work, hunt, or farm, or build things for themselves, or to sell or otherwise trade with each other. The way America was meant to be.
An evolutionary meaning could exist in a society similar to the way meaning exists for an individual—consciousness, cultivated in experiencing nature, and self-determined by one’s work.
Modern industry would become the engine of peace, powering the new reality—the one great vision that would saturate all existence. It could be an archetype for all institutions. It could be the archetype of humanity—and the people would stand together.
There would be no need for the unruly. Soon enough, it would be known that we were prepared to defend the ideology of peace. It would be proven if challenged. Our efforts would be duplicated until they were no longer needed.
To understand the ideal conditions for humanity and civilization, we must look at the finite, the individual. It is the presence of individual commitment to community—accepting the responsibility to work in peace with every other individual—that is paramount. And that presence then carries from one community to the next, one country to the next, and so on. This is meaning intrinsic to humanity.
Yes, it is true that if an individual denies the essence of another person they default their own. And then, they ought to be destroyed—to the same extent that those who threaten society should be destroyed. We defend our island by this standard. This is how a country should be defended, as humanity should be defended: by a force that has subdued death. This is our aim.
We have the will to fight. We have power of existence, control of meaning. It’s the way here, our way. We have a purpose that is productive in securing the beach in defense of life. I’d kill every one of those invaders again and any others that arrive if I had the chance, yes in defense of life.
—I’ve scoured pages of methodic observations, Kagan’s and my own. They bleed into this pilot refuge crossing the present with the past in the seeking of an evolutionary philosophy—and in the attempt to decrypt the obscure origins of human defect. Ideology is revealed not designed or developed—its image evolves. Tenets form around us in this wilderness. It is a particular way. Order in our desolate society is an integration of concepts.
Every skeleton is of one mind, one purpose.
Consciousness is the mind aware. Meaning is intrinsic to the self-determined action of living in peace.
It is to say this: Meaning for society is existence in peace. Searching for meaning outside of living in peace produces madness and death.
Let us drink to our first Law: Exist in peace, or be destroyed in defense of it.
Well, Copeland, to say meeting one’s fate assumes there was no choice in the matter. Fate is a linear idea. A pointless one.
It’s more accurate to say: upon taking a particular action, one met their fate: destruction. That would indicate that it was action guided by free-will, not an initiative of fate, that led to an end, in this case—destruction. As such, fate or end are interchangeable terms.
Destroy like a God you say. Ok, maybe in the slightest way like a God. I never said I was God, Copeland, more like a reaper with fire and guns. And a fire brigade of skeleton soldiers, for God’s sake.
No, even if we were the last people on the planet—and you’re dead—I still wouldn’t be God. Now people are sailing right up to our beach, that’s true. McKenna. The Russian girl who fishes. They live. God knows whoever else. God is quiet, ever so quiet. God is everquiet, Copeland. We are as quiet as God. Listen, I hear only the ocean.
—I don’t know, I fell asleep. It’s late and cold. Let’s go back.
— 41
Last night, the way was dark with invisible watchers and carbon scorpions fell out of still air, onto the ground, hundreds. I smashed them all into ice and clay. These fire ants I found in the dawning—they must have carried off the scorpion pieces. They carried them to the underworld. Scorpions rest there.
Looks like that Russian girl is still here, not drifting yet, I guess. Hasn’t raised her anchor yet, I guess. We’ll see if she is out there one more tomorrow morning.
I’m going to bring her some water because she has little left, probably. Give me that
bottle. Keep an eye out when I’m on the water. I know you will.
— Vesna Kazimir is her name. The guys like her well enough, but I’m taking her back to the boat after we have had lunch. She is getting to meet Elmhurst and Copeland and everybody. Everybody is happy to have around such a pretty young visitor that catches fish and doesn’t talk too much. I didn’t mean anything by that, now that’s enough. I can say that everybody enjoys having a pretty young visitor around without meaning something else by it. Well, of course. Yes, I can see with my own eyes. Yes, I know that.
— 42
Ok, I took her back to her anchored abode.
I didn’t want to look at the boat. No, I took her out to it and she climbed up. I turned around back to shore and now I’m back. How could I, I was gone five minutes. It looked like a quality sailboat on the outside. Like the one in the picture, yes, like that except without sails and anchored.
Yes, I did. I did notice her. She’s a beautiful girl, anyone with clear vision would agree about her sensual nature. Though she may be an insane woman according to McKenna. That’s one reason why she’s out there. You know other reasons. Remember what else you warned me about McKenna. That’s right, saboteur.
No, I didn’t give her the sails. That’s what I said, and you’re not listening. No, because I don’t want her stealing McKenna’s sailboat, taking off to who knows where, and getting lost at sea. It isn’t because I want her to stay, Copeland. It’s a dangerous thing letting someone go off in a sailboat like that. She could drift for ages before crashing on some unknown rocky shore in the south pacific, dead for years by then.
Maybe you should go with her in that case. That’s a cruel thing to say, I’m sorry, Copeland, that was cruel. I didn’t mean to sound cynical. You’re as noble a skeleton as anyone I’ve ever known before, Copeland. I wouldn’t want you to stray off with her. It’s just that you would be a fearless sailboat captain and she, since she would die of dehydration within a month, would make a lovely young Russian skeleton first mate on board. It’s a glorious sight to imagine: Two pirate skeletons holding down the lines, staying course, facing bitter unknown in limitless oceans—maintaining course yet forever adrift, crashing upon rocked shores of the Straight of Magellan.
That’s right, and never needing to fish. I’m glad you get the idea.
That’s what I was talking about before. McKenna could change his mind about the trade when I say she can’t stay. And he should take his sailboat back with him, in that case. And I feel some responsibility to get it back to him, in that case.
Then we’ll learn their type of scheme. Well, I can’t give him weapons instead of taking the Russian girl because of our suspicions. That’s right, that could come back poorly.
— 43
I guess she’s fishing again today. There are plenty of fish, I guess. I don’t know how she felt about visiting—she didn’t say much about anything. I know you could tell me the color of her eyes, she looked so closely at you, Copeland. No, I couldn’t say for sure, something of hazel or light brown, I’d imagine.
I’m going to ask if she wants to come back to shore for dinner if you guys want me to. Ok, we can walk to the wrecked stallion if she wants to.
—We prepared a larger meal than usual to honor our guest. Vesna liked the cooked bear. Yes, the fish was delicious. Everybody loved it. It seemed like a lot to cook, she thought. Well, we feed a few scavengers, too.
It was kind for Copeland to give up his bear fur so Vesna could be warmer on our walk to the crash site, to our old bird. He’ll stay warm tending the fire while we’re gone.
—There were tons of supplies on these pallets. I explained to her where the supply shipments were supposed to go. We talked about the explosion and how we crashed.
Of course, open a whisky please, feel free, I told her. You’re welcome, Vesna. Thank you for bringing fresh fish, too.
I wish she could have met Elmhurst sooner.
We saw my pictures. I started getting nervous remembering McKenna’s dramatic description—how she could be crazy. And I thought about conversations with Copeland, too. And I decided that the DEITI journal should stay stashed for the time being. It was time to head back before it got dark. It gets dark around here suddenly, sometimes.
—We’re sitting by the fire to get warm. I don’t mind rowing out later, to take her back.
Vesna said that McKenna left her to live on this island now—She can’t stay on his, and she needs to learn to get along with people, is his determination. It’s particularly important for her to affirm that it wasn’t her fault that he was insolent. He shouldn’t have approached her that way, she told me—because I asked again about what McKenna said.
I don’t know what occurred, because I wasn’t there. She’s adamant in her own defense, as I interrogate her as she describes it. It’s different here, for her. Quiet. They judged her. I guess she can stay on the beach in the skeleton shed, if she wants. I’ll ask.
Yes, she prefers it to a rocking boat.
— 44
Ok, me, James, Elmhurst and Copeland are staying out with a fire drinking whiskey and watching stars. Now we have a little time to ourselves to think.
Vesna is staying in the shed which she preferred to a sailboat floating over small waves which makes it difficult to get any sleep. We agreed that her wrists should be tied so that there’d be less of a risk of anything bad happening in the middle of the night, like throat cutting.
I added wood to the fire and poured more whiskey. Future was in plain view in stars in clear darkness. Constellations were bright, almost lost in infinity.
Vesna cried about something, bound in the shed, skeletons observed.
She called out again. I went over there and asked her what was the matter. I thought maybe she wanted me to take her back to the boat. She didn’t. I asked her to stop crying out like that in the middle of a quiet night and then turned away. Before I could take a step she called out again. I listened. She asked if she could rejoin us at the overwatch fire. I said okay. She hated being in the shed. I understood and escorted her back.
—So, we were all under stars together. Vesna was with us, out from skeleton watch in the dismal skeleton shed, untied. I believed her teary-eyed promises. A tone in her voice felt genuine. This was a first true test of our community. She reminded me of things I had said before about community. If I believed what I said then she should be welcomed here. It was true. She drank whiskey with us, out of restraints with marks to show for it I noticed. The bottle that she brought back from the bird glowed green by the fire with sea swaying liquid inside.
It could prove to be a mistake giving way for a patient reaper. I doubted that though. She’s something else. And, I had no need to worry about the safety restraints, she said. I’ll sleep lighter tonight even if I’m content with the decision to free her. Caution is important because we need first to build trust.
She promised to be grateful for staying. She had no anger, she insisted. She understood my initial reluctance to trust someone who had yet to disprove a questionable reputation. She will disprove it though, she promised again. I believed in an innocent sound in her optimistic voice. I trusted the emotion on her face, in her eyes. I felt the innocence in her tears.
We observed the moment and appreciated being next to a warm fire with skeleton friends around, and dancing stars above. A green star blazed across the sky. Amazed at the sight, Vesna took it as a sign, and raised an amicable drink. I received the bottle in symbolic tribute.
Her curiosity fell onto the skeletons. There is life in them, I told her, you’ll see if you listen.
—I couldn’t imagine what she could or couldn’t hear not saying anything for as long as we did as whisky guided subconscious stimulation.
Finally, Vesna spoke about the concept of time. How it was relative. I had forgotten about time, I said. She described how on the other island it seemed to stand still for so long. It was fucked up. It was torture always being judged and shunned. It wasn’t McK
enna. He defended her more times than she deserved the way she treated him, she admitted. It was many of the others who treated her badly, and that too wasn’t McKenna’s fault, she confessed. Some of the others hated her, especially a few of the women. Why, she didn’t know or care. It didn’t matter anymore if she could stay here, away from them. She’d be grateful to be away, and besides, she said she liked it with me and the skeleton rebels. Quiet death defiers is what she called them, with a coarseness in her voice and real pirate smile.
It affected me so much having Vesna out of the hospital shed, by the fire drinking whiskey with me and the skeletons. Euphoria appeared as we drank and she told me about some old bitch that used to throw table scraps at her when she was with the group there. The whole mess of them would argue and shout. I got tears in my eyes the way Vesna told it—
Why would I eat that, what did she think? No way would anyone else take scraps from her. I’d rather catch some fish for myself and stay the hell away from them.
Like she did most of the time, she said.
I’d go to the river and play with god like I was a child. Hell with it and them. I could take a fish with an arrow or aim it at the sun. I could camp in a dozen cabins, any one. Oh, that woman was a fucking bitch, Vesna said, smiling, whiskey almost spilled as she laughed.
Vesna was alive as she described how she couldn’t go anywhere to escape. We were on an island, she laughed. The woman was dreadful. You wouldn’t believe her, Thomas, she said.
Her accent betrayed her as our laughter carried to the forest and she remembered for me the way that old bitch would gesture, and the disgusting face she always made.
Laughter prodded us and we sought to catch our breath searching for falling stars, and into a hypnotic fire too, sometimes. Its warmth fluttered in tones across our faces as we sipped whisky and searched together the silent arctic darkness and stars. Northern lights were an ethereal beauty. Vesna loved to see what she likened to the soul of the earth. Time slows in such moments, it’s true. It never slows enough—seconds stretch until they disappear without a warning.
Pilot Manifest: The Source of all Things Page 5
