“Let’s see who can hit the MAX first!” Julian yelled as he grabbed a biscuit and hurled over the rail in the direction of a passing streetcar. It fell woefully short, but Ryan picked up the challenge and fired a perfect strike, bouncing the biscuit off the top of the car, where it then landed miraculously intact in the middle of 11th Ave.
“Now that’s a biscuit!” beamed Julian. “Completely impenetrable and doubles as an inexpensive lethal weapon!”
“Not to worry, Jules,” Ryan consoled his friend. “Your shrimp and grits were fabulous, as was the salad. The biscuits were just extra calories, anyway.”
“Just as well, then,” Julian responded, appearing somewhat relieved. “I probably would have eaten four or five already, and had to loosen my belt a notch!”
Ryan cocked an eyebrow, looking somewhat askance at his companion. “Jules, I fear that your hedonistic spirit may someday triumph over your more rational persona, in spite of my best efforts, and of course, you know what that means….”
“Not really,” Julian scowled, “but I suspect that I’m about to find out.”
“Discipline, Jules,” Ryan continued in his most parental tone. “Where education fails, the only remaining choice is discipline.”
“And let me guess,”—Julian shook his head woefully. “You, the great nutritional guru, will be forced to administer such discipline to your recalcitrant liege, right?”
“Clearly, someone must assume that rather odious task.” Ryan winked, “and I fear the lot has fallen to me.”
“Oh god, spank me now,” Julian taunted, standing and extending his rear in Ryan’s direction. “The anticipation alone might spawn even further deviance in the interim!”
“You are a brazen scalawag!” Ryan concluded. “Your parents were indeed prescient in appointing me guardian over you at this rather critical stage of your development, Jules.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Julian countered. “Enough of this inane discourse. It’s time to show a little appreciation for my masterful creation this evening…the dishes await thee, Lord Christie!”
“Far beneath a man of my stature,” Ryan shrugged, “and yet, le diner etait magnifique! Merci beaucoup, Monsieur Russell. I am happy to oblige your wishes,” he acquiesced, rising from the table.
Looking over at the charred remains of the biscuits, then to the street below, he quickly added, “Look, Jules, here comes the MAX. See if you can improve your aim with a little target practice while I get this mess cleaned up!”
chapter 6
B.E.T.A.A.H.F. V.1
Beyond Earth Time, at a Higher Frequency
Visit 1
Deuce was pleased with his latest “imago.” He had envisioned an English castle set upon acres of gently rolling hills in a beautiful countryside setting. He imagined what would be akin to early morning back on Earth—soft purples from the distant hills, dark gentle greens from the nearby grassy meadows, and a soothingZ pinkish-yellow-orange sky just before the sun was rising, all blending together to create a palette of inexplicable splendor. “Stunning,” he mumbled, as he pictured himself having just arisen from a massive, dark, intricately carved medieval sort of bed, which occupied a position of prominence in his newly fashioned sleeping chamber. The room’s rounded stone walls, with three enormous windows, afforded him a panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. As his feet touched the cool stone floors, Deuce couldn’t help but congratulate himself on this, his newest creation.
The term “imago” referred to the product of a “heavenly” practice similar in many respects to what was called imagination or daydreaming on Earth. The major difference, however, was the nature of reality itself. At the vibrational level commonly referred to on Earth as “heaven,” things could be best described as ethereal—real, but lacking concrete substance. Space, matter, and time did not exist here in the same way as they did at the earthly frequency. Hence, heaven was not really a place in the strict sense of the word, but rather a realm of higher vibrational consciousness where you could easily and immediately create your own “reality” with just your thoughts. This differed markedly from the thinking, dreaming, and fantasizing practices on Earth, where translating thoughts into the “real world” of lower earthly energy and dense matter was often a far more challenging and time-consuming process.
“This is my best imago yet,” Deuce proclaimed with a certain sense of pride. His bedroom was but a small part of a huge Gothic-looking castle that he had mentally fashioned and was currently occupying for the first time. “Brilliant design, old boy,” he muttered, shuffling off to his massive master bath to prepare for his imagined “day.”
The imago process of instant creation was most suitable to Deuce’s nature. On Earth, he had been a nanosecond sort of person, and was constantly frustrated by the time it took to get things done. In his present state, everything was instantaneous and he couldn’t be more pleased. Actually, “time” as he had known it on Earth did not even exist here. One could create ad lib, and enjoy ad infinitum—there was never an end, unless you chose a new beginning, which, of course, Deuce did with astonishing regularity. Diversity and new experiences had always been driving forces in his life, but this “heaven” was beyond his wildest earthly dreams. With no limitations of time and space, a person could be whoever he wanted, wherever he wanted, whenever he desired and create whatever he wanted for as long as he wished. Here, thoughts dictated form and imagination created experience. The “ground,” or “creative essence,” of this universal consciousness—the entity to whom earthly people referred to as God—flowed freely into all expressions of this creation, imbuing all with life force, energy, and unrestricted potential.
Standing before the full-length mirror in his bath, Deuce couldn’t help but admire his present image—again, a product of his own imagination. This time he was tall and slender with short dark hair, a Clark Gable mustache, and beautifully tanned skin. His finely chiseled abdomen made a handsome complement to his moderately muscular physique. A strong, masculine jaw and dark, penetrating, yet playful eyes rounded out the image before him. “Wow, am I a stud!” Deuce smiled as he contemplated getting dressed. Let’s see, he mused, what kind of look shall I have today?
Playing “dress-up” was pretty much a female activity back on Earth, but here, the imago process made it fun for everyone, as choices were, again, limited only by the imagination. “I think I’ll go for a bit of a more contemporary Western flair—tight jeans, flannel shirt, and one of those leather belts with the big silver buckle! Some nice alligator boots should do, and of course, a rugged-looking cowboy hat might come in handy as well.” In a flash, Deuce was “duded up” and ready for the day, even though his present outfit seemed a bit incongruous in his Gothic castle setting. “Oh well,” he shrugged, “that’s the beauty of heaven, I guess—no restrictive standards to crimp my style! Maybe I’ll even take a horseback ride around my new estate after breakfast.”
Oops…no real need for breakfast here. But what the heck—some earthly habits, like eating, were pleasurable regardless of any perceived “need.” In the heavenly state of being, everything was on a much higher frequency, making food unnecessary. Nevertheless, this morning Deuce had one of those old earthly cravings for a cup of coffee, and he was going to enjoy one! As he imagined the smell of freshly brewed coffee, a cup immediately appeared in his hand. Nothing like a hot cup o’ joe, he thought to himself as he headed out to the terrace. Hmmm…wonder what’s happening on Earth today? he mused, still somewhat in the habit of reviewing the daily news with his morning coffee.
The difference in frequency between heaven and Earth, however, made communication back and forth a bit cumbersome. The imago process didn’t work the same on earthly frequencies, so “heavenly” beings couldn’t just imagine themselves back on Earth and