#we all saw how he treated the alien at the inn

[ssremitm]

Newest episode of arc got me pulling a head in hands, looking out window pose.

Im worried about where Yuma and Ishido's relationship were turn including the rest of the team's. Yuma (unfortunately) has this protagonist entitlement personality to him which is "I have to to try and save everyone because I have the power to do so" along with his judgment that everyone is innocent until prove otherwise. In episode 11 we see Yuma's belief get pushed to its limits as in the end he tells Ishido he's no different from the GDF which clearly upsets him.

Im sure the next episode will prove to be interesting as Yuma struggles with the issues of wanting to prove Givas is friendly while still doing his duties as Ultraman.

On a side note; it's important to note that usually in a series in ultraman the people will be thankful for ultraman but in this universe he's seen no different from a kaiju which were also not on earth prior to the events taking place. I hope that they mention (whether it's rude or not) that no one asked for ultramans help, so Yuma doesn't have to keep throwing himself in harms way.

(I'm also just generally hoping for a episode where Yuma has to choose between Ultraman and something else)

[makingoutinthemojave]

This is something i thought of a few days ago, but fo4 companions reacting to the sole survivor taking off their prosthetic leg/arm and hitting someone ( maybe one of the othet companions lol) with it after being annoying.

I wrote a few of these! Feel free to message me if you’d like other companions!

—

Deacon-

“All I’m saying is that if Aliens exist- then why is it so hard to believe there are microscopic robots in all of our food?”

“Ok- Tom- that’s a lot to unpack,” Tinker Tom was in one of his rants again that he would go into while everyone was trying to sleep. However, his ramblings normally got everyone up and talking. Sole always tried to argue with him, which was hilarious to Deacon. “First of all, Aliens aren’t real.”

“Hey now- that ain’t true!” Tom interrupted them, “I saw that UFO the other day!”

“And we’re supposed to believe in everything you see?” Glory takes Sole’s side, lifting her brow at Tom.

“Hey, if the man says he saw a UFO- then who are we to say he didn’t! I believe ya, Tinker.” Deacon scooted from his mattress to Tom’s, patting his back. He loved to side with Tom in these fights- mostly because he reveled in the chance to tease Sole.

“Thanks, Deeks, at least you know the truth.” Tom puts his arm around Deacon, glaring at the other, less believing crew. 

“Whatever, ok, Second of all, how did you go from Aliens to microscopic robots?” Sole ignores the idiots arm-in-arm in front of them and brings up their second point.

“That’s obvious! The Aliens make the tiny robots!” Deacon declares in a dramatic voice, and Tom gasps.

“Do you think so? Maybe that’s why they’re flying over the earth- they’ve been experimenting on us!” Tom sounded like he was on the cusp of revelation- and Glory groaned.

“Come on, Tom, you can’t be serious.”

“I’m sorry that you can’t open your mind to the possibilities, Glory. I’m just trying to be safe!” Tom takes a condescending tone, and Deacon anticipates a shitshow.

“Oh, and being safe means being an idiot?” Glory snaps, and Deacon ‘ooh’s.

“Being safe means suspecting everything! And you don’t suspect enough!” Tom spits back.

“I don’t, do I? Well, Tom, I ‘suspect’ you’re about to get your ass whooped-” Glory starts getting up, and Sole grabs her arm.

“Wait, beat him with this-” Sole grabs at their hip, feeling for something.

“You’re not actually gonna beat me up, Glory-” Tom begins to nervously ask, Deacon recoiling from his friend to prevent suffering the same fate. He’s interrupted by a loud POP.

“WhAT THE FUCK-” Glory yells, jumping back from Sole. Sole then lifts their whole leg into the air.

“Get ‘em with this!” Sole offers the leg over to Glory, and she backs up.

“Woah, Woah- hold on, you can’t just hand your leg over to someone!”

“Yeah, you need to take them to dinner first- at least.” Deacon quips, making Sole laugh. He’s known about Sole’s prosthetic leg for some time and especially knows their tendency to use it as a disciplinary weapon. He’s just glad he’s not the one to receive their calf of wrath at the moment.

“What, do you not know about my leg, Glory?” Sole gestures with the leg while talking, “Damn, I knew I forgot to tell someone. Well, you can still use it to beat up Tom. Here.” They continue to hold the leg to Glory.

Glory thinks for a moment, still trying to take in what had happened. Then she nods. “Ah, fuck it, gimme the leg.” She takes the leg from Sole and turns with a vicious look towards Tom. “I’ll show you just how safe you are-”

Deacon learned a lesson that night. Don’t give a prosthetic limb to Glory when she’s angry. Also, don’t wake Desdemona up in the middle of the night. Both things produce terrible, terrible consequences.

Nick Valentine-

It ended up being a late night in the office and Nick said he’d make up for it by buying drinks for Ellie and Sole. The trio went to the Dugout inn, preceding to the bar.

“Hello, Detectives! What will I be getting for you?” Vadim greeted them in the same, loud way he always did. Nick began to fish the money out of his trench coat pocket.

“Hi, Vadim. It’s gonna be a round for these two. My treat.” Nick pulled out his caps, sliding them across the bar to Vadim.

“Oh, I see…cruising, huh, Valentine?” Vadim graciously took the money, chuckling to himself.

“Excuse me?” What is that supposed to mean? Nick sure didn’t know, but based on the way they scoffed- Sole did. Ellie started giggling as well.

“Oh, come on, Nick…I always knew you were a smooth operator. But shouldn’t you be keeping it professional with these two?” Vadim laughed, turning to grab their beers. Nick thinks he was starting to understand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bobrov.” Nick’s internal fans were working in overdrive to keep him cool, and Ellie kept laughing at his sake.

“Oh-hoh, that’s how it is! Well, good luck in your-” Vadim hoots, turning to put the beers on the counter. His remark is cut off by Sole.

“Alright, that’s enough of that.” Sole suddenly tears their right arm off, whacking Vadim on the back of the head.

Wait. They what.

Ellie squeals, jumping and standing back from the now armless Sole. It takes her and Nick one more second to register the straps and cords coming out of the detached arm.

“You have a fake arm??” Ellie declares, more in relief than anything else.

“You didn’t know?” Sole seems surprised just the same as they were.

“How would we have found out?” Nick defends, staring at them in confusion. He still wasn’t quite sure what had happened, 

“That’s one way to shut him up.” Yedim chimes up, interrupting their bickering, and making Vadim laugh.

“Yes, yes, sorry for teasing you guys! Enjoy your drinks!” Vadim apologizes and pushing the beers over to the three. Sole puts their arm back on, and they and Ellie grab the drinks.

“Thank you, Vadim. And sorry about the arm.” Sole apologizes, and they walk to find their seats.

“Well, kid, good to know you’re armed at all times.” Nick quips, watching the anguish wash over Sole and Ellie’s faces.

“Oh god- was that a pun? I thought you were better than that, Nick.” Sole cringes and Nick grins victoriously.

“Okay, now you have to tell us what happened…” Ellie nudges Sole, ignoring Nick’s dad jokes.

“Fine, I lost it when…”

Paladin Danse- 

“No wayyy!” Haylen shoves sole on the shoulder with her bottle hand, nudging them gently as they put their hands up in defense.

“I swear! I was out of the vault for like, less than an hour and already killing deathclaws!” Sole tries to convince their crowd, shrugging with their beer.

Sole and few other brotherhood members were drinking together on the lower levels of the prydwen, something Danse was completely unaccustomed to. He wasn’t one to do anything out of protocol and wasn’t interested in activities that could lead to said behavior. But Sole, the ever-inviting harpy they could be, convinced him the initiates would benefit from seeing a Paladin more relaxed. “Show them you’re a person like the rest of us,” they said. Sure.

“That would explain your pre-existing combat prowess, charging into that ghoul onslaught when we met.” Danse joins the conversation, taking a sip of his Gwinnett Ale. Everyone looks to him quickly, surprise in the initiate’s eyes. True, he hasn’t spoken at all yet, but they don’t need to treat it like a big deal. Danse tucked his head down a bit.

“Would you call that ‘prowess’ or ‘reckless abandon’?” Rhys, charming as always, chimes up before Sole could accept the compliment. He was always thorny towards newcomers, but he seemed especially so to this pre-war Vault dweller. Danse has handled in-team conflicts before, but when they involved Rhys, it was always more complicated.

“I would call it bravery.” Haylen says, glaring a moment at Rhys and then smiling back at Sole. She was always the compassionate one.

“What’s so brave about almost killing yourself?” Rhys continues to bicker, waving his beer in the air.

“Killing myself? I think I was doing most of the killing there!” Sole teases, always loving to mess with Rhys. Danse wishes they wouldn’t.

“Oh really? I think you ought to remember your place here.” Rhys frowned.

“Should I? Who got the instant promotion? Who’s working directly with the Elder to defeat the institute?” Sole continues to poke his buttons, making the initiates watching “ooh”.

“That’s it-” Rhys gets to his feet, and then does Sole.

“Wait a minute, Soldiers,” Danse quickly hops to his feet to stop the fight, but is interrupted by Sole swiftly yanking their arm off and wielding it like a weapon.

Haylen doesn’t hesitate to scream at the sight, and even Rhys seems spooked.

“What?? Y’all didn’t know I have a fake arm?” Sole reacts with just as much surprise, waving the arm around like it was nothing.

“We had no idea, Soldier, I-I-” Danse awkwardly stares.

“Well, I can tell you how I lost it if Rhys will just shut his mouth.” Sole glares and Rhys does the same.

“Settle down you two.” Danse crosses his arms and gets them to back down, going back to their seated positions. “So, tell us about the arm.”

“Okay, so way back before the war….”

X6-88- 

X6 would probably walk in on Sole knocking one of the institute directors on the head with their prosthetic arm and instantly become over-interested. He’d start inquiring about the technical abilities of their prosthetic, what weapons it was equipped with, how it could be improved.

“It doesn’t really have any abilities, other than functioning as an arm,” Sole sheepishly responded to the questions, embarrassed by the sudden attention.

“That doesn’t do at all, Sir/M’am. You should see the Robotics branch to get an upgrade. The face of the Institute deserves the best limb enhancers.” And so, through X6’s urging, Sole would end up with a wicked arm. Robotics would hook them up with like…inspector gadget style tricks all in the prosthetic. They’d honestly look part synth, which shortly became Sole’s new favorite thing to trick wastelanders into thinking. Thanks, X6!

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

5th October >> Fr. Martin’ Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Luke 10:25-37 for Monday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time: ‘Go and do the same yourself’. 

Monday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Luke 10:25-37

The good Samaritan

There was a lawyer who, to disconcert Jesus, stood up and said to him, ‘Master, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ He said to him, ‘What is written in the Law? What do you read there?’ He replied, ‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbour as yourself.’ ‘You have answered right,’ said Jesus ‘do this and life is yours.’

But the man was anxious to justify himself and said to Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbour?’ Jesus replied, ‘A man was once on his way down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of brigands; they took all he had, beat him and then made off, leaving him half dead. Now a priest happened to be travelling down the same road, but when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. In the same way a Levite who came to the place saw him, and passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan traveller who came upon him was moved with compassion when he saw him. He went up and bandaged his wounds, pouring oil and wine on them. He then lifted him on to his own mount, carried him to the inn and looked after him. Next day, he took out two denarii and handed them to the innkeeper. “Look after him,” he said “and on my way back I will make good any extra expense you have.” Which of these three, do you think, proved himself a neighbour to the man who fell into the brigands‘ hands?’ ‘The one who took pity on him’ he replied. Jesus said to him, ‘Go, and do the same yourself.’

Gospel (USA)

Luke 10:25-37

Who is my neighbor?

There was a scholar of the law who stood up to test Jesus and said, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “What is written in the law? How do you read it?” He said in reply, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” He replied to him, “You have answered correctly; do this and you will live.”

But because he wished to justify himself, he said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead. A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. Likewise a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight. He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn, and cared for him. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction, ‘Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.’ Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” He answered, “The one who treated him with mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

Reflections (9)

(i) Monday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

In today’s gospel reading, it is said of the traveller who was attacked by robbers that they left him ‘half dead’. It is an unusual expression in English, ‘half dead’, but we all know what it means. The man was very likely close to death. We can be ‘half dead’ in other ways, apart from the physical and bodily sense. We can be ‘half dead’ in the sense that the spark has gone out in us. We feel only half alive and sense that we are dragging ourselves around, without much energy or enthusiasm for anything. Perhaps that is the way many people are feeling at the moment due to the impact of this Corona Virus, ‘half dead’, or, in slightly more positive terms, ‘half alive’. It is easy to feel that as a society we are taking one step forward and then two steps back again. In these times, we often need others to breathe new life into us, just as in the parable the Samaritan breathed new life into the broken traveller. He did so by doing the good he was capable of doing. He did what he could, and that turned out to be quite a lot, bandaging the man’s wounds, easing them with oil and wine, bringing him to an inn, a place of safety and hospitality, paying his expenses and promising to check in on him on his way back. He gave a little of his time and a little of his money to this unfortunate man and it made all the difference. The half dead man came back to life. What the Samaritan did for the broken Jewish traveller is an image of what Jesus wants to do for us all. He is the great healer of body, soul and spirit. He is always present to us in a healing, life-giving way. What the Samaritan did for the injured man is also an image of what Jesus wants us to do for one another, ‘Go and do the same yourself’. There is always something we can do for one another, especially in these Covid times. Giving others a little of our time, a little from our own human and material resources can make a huge difference to them. It can bring new life to the half dead.

And/Or

(ii) Monday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

The parable of the Good Samaritan reminds us that help can come to us from unexpected quarters. The wounded man in the parable was presumable a Jew. He would not have expected help to come from a Samaritan, because Jews and Samaritans did not associate with each other at that time. To his great surprise, the broken traveller discovered that God’s compassionate presence was revealed to him by someone from whom he would have had no expectations at all. We can sometimes make the same discovery in our own lives. At crucial moments we can receive help from people we would not have expected to help us. In our hour of need we can discover that our assessment of someone was unfair, that our expectations of others were far too ungenerous. The parable suggests that God can sometimes come to us in unfamiliar guises, and that his compassionate love can be revealed to us by the outsider, the stranger, the one we would normally have considered alien to us. The Jewish lawyer struggled to accept that God’s compassionate presence could be revealed through the despised Samaritan. The parable calls on us to allow God to come to us in and through those of God’s own choosing. The person we might normally have little time for can be God’s messenger to us.

 And/Or

(iii) Monday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

In this morning’s gospel reading the lawyer asks two questions. The second question is ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The parable of the Good Samaritan is Jesus’ answer to that question. However, the parable, in reality, does not answer the question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ It answers a different question, ‘What does it mean to be a neighbour?’ That was the question Jesus himself asked at the end of the parable, ‘Which of these three proved himself a neighbour?’ Jesus implies that it is more important to be a neighbour than to ask ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The real neighbour doesn’t draw a distinction between those who are neighbours and those who are not. The real neighbour treats everyone in need as a neighbour, regardless of who they are, just as the Samaritan treated the broken traveller who was presumably a Jew as his neighbour. The lawyer was anxious to draw distinctions, ‘Who is my neighbour and who is not?’ Jesus, like the Samaritan, did not draw distinctions. He gave himself equally to all, whether they were Jews, Samaritans or pagans. He calls on his followers to do the same. We are to give expression to God’s compassionate presence to everyone without discrimination.

 And/Or

(iv) Monday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

Any parable can speak to us in different ways. If we identify with one particular character in the parable it will speak to us in one way; if we identify with a different character the parable will speak to us in another way. We often hear the parable in this morning’s gospel reading as an invitation to identify with the character of the good Samaritan, as he is often called. The parable could also be heard as an invitation to identify with the broken traveller who lay on the roadside half dead. We have all known brokenness in various forms. We can be physically broken when we are unwell; we can be emotionally broken because of some heartbreaking experience; we can be mentally broken or, at least, mentally tired. In this morning’s parable the broken traveller, who was a Jew, would have been amazed to discover that the person who stopped to look after him was someone whom he would have regarded as his enemy, the Samaritan. It was the enemy, not the Jewish priest or Levite, who revealed to him the compassion of God. The parable suggests that in our brokenness the Lord can come in us in ways that will surprise us. The compassionate love of God can touch us in and through those with whom we seem to have very little in common. The parable invites us to be open to the many and varied and surprising ways that the Lord can come to us.

 And/Or

(v) Monday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

In the gospel reading this morning, a lawyer asks Jesus two very important questions. He first asked Jesus, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ He then went on to ask him, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ It was in response to that second question that Jesus tells the parable of the good Samaritan. Yet, that parable doesn’t really answer the question, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ It answers another question, the question Jesus asks at the end of the parable, ‘Which of these three proved himself a neighbour?’ Jesus is suggesting that it is more important to be a neighbour to others than to be trying to work out ‘who is my neighbour?’ The answer to the lawyer’s first question, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ is ‘Be a neighbour’. The true neighbour does not ask the question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The Samaritan didn’t ask whether the broken man by the roadside was a Jew or a Samaritan or a pagan; he was a fellow human being in need, and that was all that mattered. The Samaritan is a Jesus-figure. Jesus revealed God’s compassionate love to all in need, whether they were Jews, Samaritans or Gentiles. When Jesus says at the end of the parable, ‘God and do likewise’, he is calling on us to become his compassionate presence to others, especially to those most in need, regardless of who they are.

 And/Or

(vi) Monday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

The story that Jesus tells in this morning’s gospel reading in response to a question of an expert in the Jewish Law is very familiar to us. We probably tend to hear it as a call to identify with the Samaritan who took care of the broken, half-dead, man on the roadside, when others had passed by. It does make that call on us. However, the story can also be inviting us to identify with the wounded traveller. We are all wounded in different ways; we are all in need of healing of some kind. If we identify with the wounded traveller, we might find ourselves wondering how he felt when someone he would have considered his ‘enemy’, a Samaritan, came to his help. This is the last person he would have expected to stop for him, because Jews and Samaritans had no dealings with each other at that time. He would have had to completely rethink his preconceived ideas about Samaritans. We may have had a similar experience. In our hour of need, someone we had no expectations of, someone we had written off, stands by us, when others we might have expected to help us leave us to our own devices. The Samaritan in the story is very much a Jesus figure. He displayed the same compassion that characterized the ministry of Jesus. One of the messages of this story is that the Lord can come to us in our need in and through the most unexpected of people. Whereas the expert in the Jewish Law who approached Jesus wanted clarity about who he should consider a neighbour, ‘Who is my neighbour?’, the Samaritan in the story Jesus told wasn’t interested in that question. His only concern was to be a neighbour to his fellow human being, whoever he or she might be. Such people always reveal the Lord to us.

 And/Or

(vii) Monday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

In the gospels Jesus is revealed as someone who binds up the wounds of those who are broken in body, mind or spirit. He regularly stops and calls over those whom others pass by or goes over to them himself. In that sense the Samaritan in the story Jesus tells in today’s gospel is a Jesus figure. It is said of the Samaritan that when he saw the broken man by the roadside, he was moved with compassion for him. It is often said of Jesus in the gospels that he was moved with compassion for people. It is striking that in the parable Jesus portrays himself not as the priest or with the Levite, those traditionally considered to be holy, but as a Samaritan, someone who, from a Jewish point of view, would have been considered an outsider, excluded from God’s family. One of the messages of the parable is that Jesus can come to us in strange guises. The risen Lord is with us today as one who in his compassion reaches out to us to bind up our wounds. We can experience his compassionate presence in ways we might never have expected, just as the Jewish broken man by the roadside would have been surprised to discover that his compassionate healer was a Samaritan, a traditional enemy of the Jewish people. There is at least one other message in the parable. The Samaritan didn’t ask whether the broken man by the roadside was a Jew or a Samaritan or a pagan; he was a fellow human being in need, and that was all that mattered. Likewise, Jesus revealed God’s compassionate love to all in need, regardless of their race or creed. When Jesus says at the end of the parable, ‘God and do likewise’, he is calling on us to become his compassionate presence to others, especially to those most in need, regardless of who they are.

 And/Or

(viii) Monday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

The question asked by the lawyer in the gospel reading, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ is a really important question. He knew the answer to his own question and, at the prompting of Jesus, he gave the answer from his own religious tradition. What he had to do to inherit eternal life was to love, to love God firstly with all his being, and then, inseparable from that first love, to love his neighbour as if the neighbour were his own self. That could have been the end of the conversation, but the lawyer had another question, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ If his first question was a really important one, his second question was a little problematic. In asking ‘Who is my neighbour?’ he was implying that some people were not his neighbour. The parable Jesus told in response to his second question showed that every human being in need is a neighbour. The injured man in the story was presumably a Jew. Yet, the one who helped him was a Samaritan, the traditional enemy of the Jew. For the Samaritan, this Jew lying by the roadside was not an enemy but a neighbour because his need was desperate. The Samaritan loved this Jewish man into life by his self-giving actions. The Samaritan didn’t ask the lawyer’s question, ‘Is this my neighbour?’ He simply got to work; he showed himself a neighbour to this broken man. At the end of the story Jesus tells the lawyer, ‘Go and do likewise’. Here was the answer to the lawyer’s question, ‘What must I do?’ Jesus is saying to him and to all of us, ‘Go and be a neighbour to those who cross your path in life, whoever they are, whatever their race, religion or creed’.Those who are truly a neighbour don’t ask ‘Who is my neighbour?’

 And/Or

 (ix) Monday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

Today’s gospel reading begins with a question addressed to Jesus by a lawyer, an expert in the Jewish Law, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ It was a very practical question, ‘What must I do?’ The gospel reading ends with Jesus saying to the lawyer, ‘Go and do likewise’, ‘Go and do what the Samaritan in the story did’. It is as if Jesus was saying, ‘You asked me what you are to do, and I am showing what you are to do by the parable, I have just told’. A very practical question was given a very practical answer. What was it that the Samaritan did in the story Jesus told? The first thing he did, and the most important thing he did, was that he allowed himself to be moved emotionally when he saw the half-dead traveller by the roadside. Two other people had already seen that sorry sight of the half-dead traveller and were unmoved. They saw the man, but they didn’t really see him. It was a surface seeing. The Samaritan’s seeing was an attentive seeing; he didn’t just see, he noticed, which is why he was moved emotionally by what he saw. As the gospel reading says, when the Samaritan saw the half dead man, he was moved with compassion. Because he was moved emotionally, he immediately started to move physically, engaging in a whole series of actions on behalf of his fellow traveller, bandaging the man’s wounds, pouring oil and wine on them, placing the man on his horse, carrying him to an inn and paying for him to be looked after, with the promise to pay more on his return journey if necessary. Every action the Samaritan performed was a step towards the poor unfortunate man’s healing. Yet, it all began with the Samaritan’s way of seeing this person in need. He saw him with the eyes of Jesus, compassionate eyes. It is often said of Jesus in the gospel story that he saw and had compassion. The story Jesus told invites us to ask ourselves. ‘How do we see others? How attentive is our seeing? Do I allow myself to be moved by what I see?  It is significant that in the story the person who saw with the eyes of Jesus was an outsider, a Samaritan, someone consider by Jews at the time as not belonging to God’s people. He wasn’t religious in the conventional Jewish sense. Jesus may be reminding us through even people not considered religious in the conventional sense can make his compassionate ministry present to those who need it most.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[thefinalcinderella]

Tsurune Book 2 Chapter 5-Marebito (Part 1)

In this chapter: the Kazemai gang heads to an inn for their summer training camp, and coincidentally meets a certain school with a certain drama-starting guy there.

I made a note about this for the last chapter, but a marebito is a supernatural being from afar that visits villages bearing gifts and good fortune. Maybe I should have changed the title to “aliens” lol

Also the line break is gone???? wtf tumblr

Glossary here

List of translations here

Translation Notes

1. Yakisugi is a traditional Japanese method of wood preservation. Lots of old traditional buildings have walls made in this way.

2. Beanbags, or otedama, are used in the game of the same name where they are tossed and juggled, similar to jacks (according to Wikipedia). The coin shaped pieces, or ohajiki, are used in a traditional children’s game that’s similar to marbles.

3. They are mentioned in the first book, but the Raiki Shagi and Shahoukun are two very important kyudo texts that convey the values and technique of kyudo.

4. Yadokoro refers to where the arrow lands, which can be used to determine how and at what angle your arrows landed. Steady shots mean that the yadokoros of the two arrows are close together and not in disarray.

5. A kouyou kasane no tenouchi literally means “red-leaves-piling-up tenouchi” . It’s a type of grip that’s used for shamen uchiokoshi apparently? For this grip, your little finger gets as close to the thumb as possible and the other three fingers are inserted into the gap between them.

6. Uwaoshi is where the left hand (the gripping hand) is bent pushing the bow from above. This is an incorrect method in some schools.

7. An oobanare is a large release of the left and right hands.

8. Hosha is a general term for kyudo that takes place on the ground, not horseback. The Ogasawara-ryuu hosha tradition shoots in shoumen style.

9. The hagiito is the lower feather binding. Fun fact: one of my translations is the second result if you search up “hagiito kyudo”

10. Tezutsu fireworks is a type of traditional hand-held firework where a bamboo tube filled with gunpowder can shoot sparks and fire up to five meters high. You can see pictures here

11. A black snake firework is a type of firework that doesn’t create sparks or sound, instead emitting ash that looks like snakes. Read about them on Wikipedia

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Previous | Next

They were now in summer vacation, and the Kazemai High School Kyudo Club was holding their summer training camp.

The eight club members, plus Tommy-sensei and Masa-san for a total of ten people, rode the minibus prepared by the inn and got off in front of there. The old fashioned Japanese-style building was impressive with yakisugi walls (1) and a steep roof, and the reception desk was decorated with tops, beanbags and coin-shaped glass pieces that invited nostalgia. (2)

Nanao took two beanbags.

"I feel like you can summon a zashiki-warashi with these."

"Are you still bringing that up?"

Kaito squinted. There were a lot of furry balls nestling up to him at his feet, and since they cried out to be stroked, he was beaten by their persistence and lifted a cat up.

"You guys really are everywhere."

"Well you are a cat seducer, after all."

"Am not. They approach me themselves."

"That's what a seducer says. Right, kitty?"

When Nanao reached out for the cat Kaito was holding, its hair stood on end. Apparently he was being treated as a natural enemy. Nanao surrendered and left the place.

In the lobby, there was a girl from another school who was carrying a lot of luggage by herself. She stumbled many times due to getting obstructed by the walls. Nanao was also carrying luggage, but he was unable to just watch and ran up to her.

"Are you okay? I'll help."

"Oh, I'm so sorry about this. I overestimated myself and carried too many things."

Seeing this, Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo murmured amongst themselves.

"Kisaragi-kun is such a quick worker."

"But, I know from practicing together in club activities that he is not only nice to girls."

"Yeah, that's right."

Kaito put the cat on the floor and took the luggage that Nanao was halfway in carrying.

Minato, Seiya, and Ryouhei carried everyone's equipment and headed for the kyudojo behind the inn.

As soon as they went in, Minato exclaimed, "Whoa, what is this place?"

"It’s pretty rare, isn't it? But I think beginners would turn it down." Seiya, who was in charge of looking for a place to hold the training camp, said proudly.

The yamichi was not a lawn, but a pond abundantly filled with water. The sight of plants such as cattails and arrowheads growing thickly, and golden-ringed dragonflies flitting over them could make one mistake this place for a Japanese-style garden.

"When we miss here, would our arrows fall into the pond?"

"It'll be fine, none of us do hakiya anymore, right? And this place is big enough for ten people to shoot together, so it'll be split into two shajos and we'll be using it jointly with another school."

"Which school?"

"I asked when I made the reservations, but it's a school that I've never heard of."

From behind them, there came the voice of someone. "Whoa, what is this place?" They said the exact same words as Minato did. Minato looked back and saw a boy with large eyes.

"Nikaidou-senpai..."

"Oh my, why are Minato-chan and Seiya-chan here?"

"Could it be, Nikaidou-senpai, that you're having your training camp here?"

"That's right. We'll be looking forward to working with you guys."

"We will also be looking forward to working with you."

The corner of Nikaidou's mouth lifted, as though he remembered something.

"Could it be that the guy who started talking to the girls from my school in the lobby is your friend?"

"Yes, he is."

"That's what I thought. He's a good boy like the two of you, after all."

Minato whispered to Seiya.

"What's happening?"

"The school that I heard might have cancelled. Got it, Minato? Just ignore Nikaidou-senpai. You can't react to him."

"Got it."

Knowingly or unknowingly perceiving the tricky atmosphere between Minato, Seiya, and Nikaidou, Ryouhei cheerfully greeted him.

"Hi! You were the one who helped me pick up what I dropped at the last tournament, right? Thanks for that!"

"Don't mention it," Nikaidou answered.

"I'm Yamanouchi from Kazemai High School. I'll be in your care. Huh? That person over there caught a summer cold? I'll give you my grandma's secret wonder medicine I always have with me!"

Because he was aiming his words directly at the mask-wearing Aragaki, Fuwa let out a muffled laugh. Aragaki, of course, made no comment.

As Fuwa pressed his cheeks, which were about to loosen into a smile, he commented for Aragaki.

"Oh, thanks for your concern. He didn't catch a cold, so we appreciate the thought."

"Really? Oh, I saw that huge bow at the last tournament! So cool! Can I touch it?"

Ootaguro held out his bow with a smile.

"The height (urazori) is incredible! I can't believe that they sell giant bows like this!"

"It’ll have to be a custom order, but you can buy one. I inherited mine from my grandpa."

"What, your grandpa can shoot with this giant bow?"

"When he was young. It took a long time for me to be able to draw this bow. It's my treasure."

"Whoa, your treasure? That's really cool."

"Right?"

The two, who were as frank and straightforward as children, got completely excited about the topic of the large bow.

Behind them, Higuchi was moving at his own pace. He walked slowly, and when he reached the edge of the shajo, he murmured "Heave-ho" and squatted down. He yawned while gazing at the pond. In this excessively tranquil state, the flow of time seemed to slow down around only him.

Nikaidou probably thought that they were wasting time. He quickly moved to the second shajo. Minato and Seiya also pulled themselves together and resumed preparations.

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After they made their preparations, the members of Kazemai High School and Tsujimine High School faced each other. Tommy-sensei made his greetings after Tsujimine’s sensei.

“It must be fate that we are meeting our opponents from the regional tournament here. I hope you will all make use of this fate without fail. Be plenty careful about accidents and injuries, and hydrate frequently so you will not be exhausted by the summer heat. I look forward to seeing everyone’s progress.”

Under Seiya’s leadership, they chanted the “Raiki Shagi” and “Shahoukun” (3) in unison and performed their warm-up exercises. After that, they were divided by their schools. Kazemai was in the first shajo. Overworking was forbidden, but those who could shoot one hundred times in a day aimed for two hundred times. The reason they chose to do joint practice with another school was because of Tommy-sensei’s intention to have them get used to a place with a large number of people, since they usually shot in an environment with not a lot of people.

For a while, at the beginning of shooting, Minato was more unused to the fact that the yamichi was a pond rather than the practice with students from another school. The golden-ringed dragonflies flying by the waterside zoomed towards the shajo, colliding into the fluorescent lights and making clicking sounds. His mind went to the plants and water surface, and he fell into the feeling that he was about to release an arrow into the pond.

Masa-san went around to watch each person’s shooting. Kaito was showing off his steady shots (yadokoro). (4)

“You’re able to make your bow turn completely nowadays, I see.”

“Thank you very much.”

Nanao asked him a question.

“Masa-san, I can also make my bow turn recently, but right after I release my arrow, my bow slips down, and I’m holding the yazuridou instead of the grip.”

“Since the bow turns in your hand, it’s normal for it to fall by about a finger, but why do you think it fell down so much?”

“Ummm, why?”

“Everyone, pay attention to Nanao’s tenouchi.”

As Minato watched Nanao’s shooting, he noticed something.

“Is it when his hand suddenly opens for just a moment at hanare?”

“Yeah, I saw that too,” Kaito said, backing up Minato’s diagnosis.

Masa-san spoke.

“Exactly. There are people who want to make their bow turn and do it on purpose, but there are also many who do it unconsciously. The bow slipping down so much is because of the left hand opening for an instant and the tension of the little finger being weak.”

“I see. Now I understand why you put so much emphasis on the left pinky, Masa-san.”

“Although, there is actually also a shooting method that places a lot of importance on the actions of the middle finger. What I’ll be doing now is the difficult method of gripping the bow with my middle finger, and then at hanare, remove my middle finger while at the same time tensing my fourth and little fingers. Now, let go for a minute and watch.”

Masa-san took the bow and arrow in his hand and parted the bow, then let go of the arrow.

For a moment, the bow tended towards his back.

At the same time the arrow was released, the bow also left Masa-san’s hand and was blown towards his back. For a moment, Minato and the others had no idea what happened, and stood stock still.

The arrow reached the target. Startled by the loud sound of the bow falling, the Tsujimine members looked over towards them, but Masa-san merely picked up the bow like nothing happened.

“In an anecdote of Awa-hanshi and his disciple, he once threw his bow along with his arrow and scarred the floor of the dojo. Apparently, everyone except for the archers thought he went mad when they heard it, but it was probably his process for training his tenouchi, for the sake of creating a sharp hanare. The body is used completely differently for the ‘mistake’ of dropping his bow on the spot and the bow jumping out of your hand from a sharp hanare.”

Ryouhei’s eyes were sparkling.

“That’s so cool! I want to see it one more time! Can I do it too?”

“This is a Honda-ryuu technique that I learned by myself, so I’m still not at a level where I can teach it to people. Everyone, you first aim to not separate your left thumbs and middle fingers so that you won’t drop your bows.”

Minato sighed at the shooting technique he was seeing for the first time.

He read about Awa-hanshi in books, but because they never wrote about what kind of intentions or the kind of methods he went by, he always felt some doubt. The essential parts were not conveyed with only the outcome or a summary. No doubt the true value lied in the process, in the individual episodes.

After they finished shooting four arrows, Ryouhei and Nanao went to retrieve the arrows. They finished collecting the arrows for the first and second shajos and put all of them in the arrow box.

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Meanwhile, Nikaidou was straining his ears to listen.

There were many differences between shoumen uchiokoshi and shamen uchiokoshi. As a matter of fact, during middle school, Nikaidou shot in shoumen for club activities and shamen when he was with his uncle Shigeyuki, so that caused confusion for him.

Nikaidou’s current way of shooting involved gripping his bow with a kouyou kasane tenouchi (5), creating an uwaoshi. (6) At kai, he shifted his thumb, made a grinding noise with his yugake as he untied it, and then at zanshin his bow fell forward and it became an oobanare. (7)

This was the first he was hearing about a practice method where one threw away one’s bow,

Kazemai’s coach might be very interesting…

He thought, and compared him with his own advisor. As one would expect, he did show his face at the kyudojo today, but it looked as though he had almost no interest in the states of the club members or anything like that. At first, he had been chatting with Kazemai’s advisor, but now he had already vanished. He might have shut himself in his room and went to sleep.

Nikaidou clicked his tongue.

He didn’t mind if he wasn’t able to coach them in shooting, but he wished he could pose as an advisor at least. The motivation of the members could be raised just by him saying something to them. Zealous and extreme instruction could have harmful effects, but a club could not be established without an advisor. Their advisor’s favorite saying was, “I’m a teacher and being the advisor for a club is volunteer work, so this is work without pay,” basically telling them not to ask him for too much. That was probably a sound argument.

As a result, Nikaidou took the place of the advisor. He had the longest kyudo career in the Tsujimine High School Kyudo Club.

For beginners, they wouldn’t know anything like the differences between the shooting postures of A and B. After a while, they could see the things that stood out, but didn’t know how to fix them. Identifying the root cause of distortions and slackening required a wealth of knowledge and a high amount of experience. To speak to others of something is to expose one’s own true ability and humanity, as well as an act that carries responsibility along with it. By all rights, one should not speak thoughtlessly.

Since Tsujimine wore shoes in their schoolyard as they shot, they were not used to bracing their legs in tabi. Nikaidou saw to it that his fellow members would learn that sensation of the soles of their feet at this training camp.

After some rounds, Nikaidou and Fuwa went to retrieve the arrows. They carefully wiped clean the arrows with dirt on them.

“I wonder what school that Kazemai coach belongs to.”

“His master was from the Ogasawara-ryuu hosha tradition (8), but he himself doesn’t belong to any school, apparently. He was taught by teachers from all kinds of schools and mixed it all together. His current master is the advisor, Morioka-sensei. He’s a sixth-dan kyoushi, I heard.”

“That old man teacher is a sixth-dan kyoushi…?”

Nikaidou felt anger.

In spite of being a weak, puny school with few members, how was it that they even had a coach besides having an advisor? Furthermore, there was a good balance between having a skilled master and a young person. He knew it was an irrational anger for the other person, but why was only Minato so blessed?

I feel so envious, so jealous. I don’t want to see that guy.

“By the way, Fuwa, how do you know all that?”

“When we were checking in, I heard the innkeeper questioning that coach.”

“Amazing. I’m so impressed by your ability to gather information, Fuwa.”

“Well, excuse me for having long ears.”

Nikaidou at that moment had intended on his remark being praise, not sarcasm.

“Hey, Fuwa, you get what I’ve been telling you? Are the things you’re hearing from Uncle Shigeyuki being conveyed properly to you guys?”

“Hmm? They are.”

“It’s not like I myself understand them perfectly, so I feel like I’m telling it all wrong. Also, don’t you hate being spoken in such a sloppy way by a guy the same age as you? And from the perspectives of Aragaki-senpai and the others, I’m an underclassman.”

“If a stranger suddenly told you something like, ‘Your shooting form is not good. It is wrong,’ you might think, ‘Who the hell’s this asshole, makes me sick,’ but I kinda feel like Higuchi-senpai and Aragaki-senpai are waiting for words from you?”

“Both of them react so dully, I really don’t get what they’re thinking.”

Fuwa was wondering what the true meaning behind his words was. Didn’t Nikaidou saying so much after such a long time meant that taking the place of the advisor was becoming a burden for him?

It was the fear of making decisions.

The anxiety of wondering whether or not it was really okay like this, of wondering if this was wrong.

“Even if you did something wrong, you can just correct it, right? It’s not like it’s a serious case that involves the life or death of people. What are you trying so hard for? It’s not like you at all.”

“It’s not like me?”

“Generally, you can’t convey exactly the taste of an apple to someone who hasn’t eaten an apple before, and so when they can eat one, they’ll know, ‘This is an apple.’ You trying to explain and convey everything is ridiculous from the start. Trust the other person a little and leave it to them.”

“Yeah, sure, you’re as wise as ever, Fuwa.”

“What a pain in the ass. To sum it up, I have no complaints or requests for you.”

As Nikaidou was talking with Fuwa, his anger subsided a little. Even if their advisor was absent and they didn’t have a kyudojo, they had an uncle named Shigeyuki, so they were still saved. In the first place, the Tsujimine High School Kyudo Club had many eccentrics in it, and it wasn’t in their natures to be intimate friends with one another.

However, there were no doubt relationships of mutual trust.

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The setting sun shone over the kyudojo, and practice ended. Tommy-sensei and the others left first, and the Kazemai and Tsujimine girls moved to the changing room together.

When the male members finished changing into their regular clothes, Higuchi idly whispered to Nikaidou about something.

“Your arrow is missing?”

“Yeah, I was looking for it earlier but…”

It was guessed from the sight of Higuchi still in his kyudo uniform that he had been searching for them for a long time. In the past, there was an incident where an upperclassman had made fun of his extremely slow pace and hid his arrow. Nikaidou remembered that and felt angry.

Since they checked all of Tsujimine’s quivers and didn’t find it, they asked Kazemai to check theirs as well. Upon doing that, the arrow was discovered in Ryouhei’s quiver.

Ryouhei bowed his head to Higuchi.

“I’m so sorry. I took your arrow. I will pay more attention from now on.”

“It’s fine--, it’s nothing—.“

Ryouhei’s arrows were longer than other people’s, so he hadn’t noticed Higuchi’s arrow buried among his bundle of arrows at all. The reason for that was him shirking off the work of counting his arrows.

Nikaidou stepped in front of Higuchi.

“That’s not right, Higuchi-senpai. If this was the last day, he might have took your arrow back with him, you know? There are people who would bring it home by mistake and neglect to go and return it because it was too much work for them.”

“No, in that case I would properly go and return it. I’m truly sorry.”

“You’re Yamanouchi-kun, right? You were also very interested in our Ootaguro’s bow, eh? If it’s a high-grade bow, there are likely also people who would bring it back with them on purpose, right? I think you’re different, though.”

Nikaidou’s tone was sharp. His irritation was obvious to everyone.

Nanao stepped between them.

“He found it right away, so can you forgive him for that much at least? People retrieving the wrong arrows happens a lot, right? In the past, I’d been mistaken for a girl and taken away with someone. The patterns of the feathers and the colors of the hagiito (9) were exactly alike.”

Nikaidou got even more displeased at Nanao’s interference.

“You’re the kid who carried our girls’ luggage, huh? Even though the high school generals are right around the corner, you have the time to hit on girls from other schools. As expected, schools with blessed environments are different. Even though since being able to use a kyudojo in itself is so precious to guys like us, we don’t want to waste even a second. I really am so jealous I can’t stand it. Right?”

“What? I don’t think I was really hitting on anyone.”

“Oh…is that so?”

Seiya stopped Minato from arguing against Nikaidou. If he defended them poorly, then it would be adding fuel to the fire.

However, Kaito couldn’t take it anymore. He walked right up to Nikaidou and thrust his nose into his face.

“I’ve been listenin’ for a while, but how do you keep going on and on about bullshit? He said it wasn’t on purpose and apologized, ain’t he? And, Nanao wasn’t hitting on anyone back there.”

“What’s with you? Why are you so tanned? Are you, like, a helper from the soccer club or something? You must be having such a hard time, what with being teammates with the airhead and the playboy and all.”

“What did ya say!”

Right when Kaito grabbed Nikaidou by his collar, there was a clattering sound.

A pair of glasses with bent frames was rolling on the floor. They were Seiya’s. He had been trying to stop Kaito and got his glasses hit by Kaito’s raised hand.

Seiya was pressing his hand to his eyes. His hidden mole became exposed.

“Ah… Seiya, I’m sorry.”

“—Kaito, pick them up.”

The place became completely frozen.

Seiya’s moment-freezing gun wasn’t only activated when he said lame jokes. Rather, it was stronger when he was angry. Kaito hurriedly went to pick up the blown away glasses. Nikaidou also seemed to have recovered himself with the sound of the glasses falling to the floor.

Seiya issued instructions without a moment’s delay.

“Nanao and Ryouhei will close the shutters. Minato will go and check that the doors to the equipment storehouse and the arrow retrieval path are locked. We will be doing the final locking up, so everyone from Tsujimine, please go on ahead and leave before us.”

Fuwa had been watching on the sidelines until then, but he judged that it would be better to go with Seiya’s plan.

“Are you okay without your glasses?”

“I have contacts, so there is no problem.”

“I see. Well then, we shall be leaving first. Good work today. Nikaidou, we’re going.”

“Good work today.”

After they could no longer see Nikaidou and the others, Seiya beckoned Kaito over. Leaving cleanup to Minato and the rest, the two headed back to their room first.

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The room the five boys were lodged in was a Japanese style room about twelve tatami mats wide, with a single low table placed in the center of the room. When the window was opened, the laughter of children blew in along with the refreshing wind of the plateau.

Kaito sat in seiza in front of Seiya, looking small.

“You know what I want to say, right? If you raised your hand at Nikaidou-senpai, you’d be doing exactly what he wants.”

“I’m sorry, Seiya. I’ll pay for your glasses.”

This scene was exactly like a child being scolded by his parent for making mischief.

Seiya narrowed his naked eyes.

“I was thinking about changing my glasses soon anyways, so it’s not a big deal. But wearing contacts for a long time is tiring.”

“I’m sorry, that was really inexcusable of me.”

“Kaito, I’m thirsty.”

Kaito poured barley tea into a cup and presented it to him.

“I really want my shoulders rubbed. That place between my shoulder blades got way too stiff.”

“Yes.”

“I wish someone would fill out the accommodation survey for me.”

“Yes.”

Giving a sidelong glance at Kaito, who turned towards the table and eagerly filled out the form, Seiya suppressed a laugh. An excessively obedient Kaito was hilarious to see, and he couldn’t help but mess with him. He felt that he truly understood Nanao’s state of mind.

Should I forgive him soon?

Seiya thought, and left Kaito in the room.

Seiya returned with a tray of watermelon slices. He remembered that it was a complementary service of the inn, and that they said, “Please tell us if you need some.”

He placed the tray on the table and sat down. Since he can’t see well without glasses, he brought his face closer to his target objects.

The curtains were swaying.

Soon, there came the quiet breathing of someone asleep beside him.

While Seiya left his seat for a little bit, Kaito had laid down and fallen asleep.

He must have been so tired that even when Seiya brought his face right up to his, he showed absolutely no signs of waking. His sleeping face was like that of an angel. One wouldn’t think that this is the very same boy who normally pointlessly intimidated his surroundings.

“Kacchan, huh…” Seiya murmured.

Well, even he can feel sleepy. Even though he always, always protects Nanao with all his strength. Kaito says I’m overprotective, but he shouldn’t talk.

Seiya leaned against the window where the wind blew through.

He listened to the quiet sound of sleep breathing until Minato and the others returned to the room.

After a short time, Kaito was awoken by Nanao.

“Kacchan, wake up. We left some watermelon for you.”

“…’kay. Huh, where’s Seiya?”

“He went to the baths. We’ll go too after you eat.”

Kaito bit into a watermelon slice.

After they finished bathing and eating dinner, the Kazemai ten gathered at the open space before the inn.

Seiya lit a candle for ignition and handed out hand-held fireworks to everyone.

Minato lit his firework at once, and a long firework, like the head of a zebra grass, sprouted out. The crackling sparklers and the tezutsu fireworks (10) were both staples for home use. Tommy-sensei was saying how nostalgic this all was while gazing at a black snake firework. (11) Kaito drew figure-eights with the flame of his firework, and Nanao and Ryouhei were running around while holding their fireworks.

Hanazawa, Shiragiku, and Seo called to the two of them.

“You guys, you’ll fall if you run!”

“We’ll be fine!”

Seiya handed more fireworks to Kaito.

“Thanks. Don’t just watch us, join in.”

“Okay.”

He didn’t use the candle to light his firework, but ignited it by directly accepting the fire of the firework in Kaito’s hand.

“It’d be nice if a zashiki-warashi shows up.”

“I told you to stop talking about that.”

“Kaito, could it be that you’re scared?”

“Hell no!”

Seiya chuckled.

When there were no more hand-held fireworks, Masa-san lit a bunch of ground fireworks. The fountains of flame brightly illuminated everyone’s faces. Then, parachutes were launched from them with a popping sound. Ryouhei was the first to pick one up and held it up high, and Nanao performed a hip-hop dance.

And so, the lively fireworks display continued late into the night.

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It happened after they all went to bed. A shadow crept into the sleeping room.

The shadow roamed inside the room without making even a footstep, and when it found its target person, it stopped near their pillow. It peered into their face, then slowly climbed on top of it. Kaito tried to cry out about the weight on his chest, but couldn’t do it for some reason.

Suddenly, Nanao woke up feeling something unusual. Looking next to him, he saw a cat curled up sleeping on top of Kaito. Because the room’s door was kept open, it freely came in.

Nanao whispered, “…You sure are sneaky. Even though you’re always so cold to me.”

He thought about driving it away, but it was the middle of the night. It was inexcusable to wake everyone up with by making a racket. Leaving the cat where it was, Nanao also used Kaito as a pillow and fell asleep again.

Kaito was the one who was misfortunate. Because he did not wake up from sleep while feeling a weight on his body, he could not move as though he was suffering from sleep paralysis.

The one who was woken up with Kaito’s groans was Seiya. When he narrowed his eyes and checked out the situation using the moonlight, the cat and Nanao, using Kaito as their pillow, were sleeping like logs.

Seiya sighed.

Good grief, there’s on helping it. This is the punishment for waking me up in the middle of the night after all—.

Seiya moved the cat and Nanao, who were on top of Kaito, out of the way, and took out a certain something from his bag. And then, he went back to sleep.

The next morning. Minato and Ryouhei, who were the first to wake up, desperately suppressed their laughter.

——There are “cat whiskers” drawn on Onogi’s face!?

Is this the prank of a zashiki-warashi?

Seiya and Nanao were still sleeping.

Kaito, while thinking that Minato and Ryouhei were acting strange, went to the washroom, got in front of the mirror and screamed.

---

Previous | Next

[ship-ambrosia]

Gruvia Week, Day 3

Give it up for Day 3! Wow, I’m surprising even myself with the motivation I’ve gotten to write!

This one is posted off my laptop. It doesn’t fit the prompt exactly, but I couldn’t think of anything else and it works well enough. My submission today is a piece of a longer fanfiction that I’ve been working on, and debating if I actually want to do the entire thing - so today’s also kind of a test run for me? It’s also way longer than my Day 1 and Day 2 posts lol

As always, please consider checking out my first Gruvia fanfiction on AO3, Four Degrees!

 "Would you stop moping around, ice princess? You're gonna give us all a damn cold!"   "Natsu, don't be mean! That's totally unnecessary!"   "I'll do whatever I want, especially if he isn't going to fight back! Hehe."   "Salamander, you know I don't like the iceman as much as I don't like you, but even I'm starting to get pissed off for him."   "Gajeel, please don't make this worse."   "If you want to go, I'm ready to go!"   "I'm always ready to go, you pink-haired loser!"   "Call me that again to my face, metal freak!"   "I just did!"   Gray glanced up just in time to watch the two of them, mid-brawl, escape out the front doors of the guild.   Across the table from him, Levy let out a sigh. "I'll go make sure they don't destroy anything. Be back in a second, Lu."   Lucy nodded, turning back from her friend to face him. Mentally, Gray braced himself. He knew Lucy at the very least was concerned, but he didn't exactly like to have all his feelings out in the open for others to scrutinize.   "She'll be back, Gray."   He looked up to Lucy's eyes, her smile and her gaze twinkling with hope. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting her to say, but that wasn't it. And honestly, it still hurt. Anything that anyone said about Juvia would hurt, unless they were telling him where he could find her.   "Why did she only tell Gramps where she was going?" He croaked. "Why wouldn't she let me come with her?"   Lucy pursed her lips. "Juvia is strong, Gray. She can handle herself. You might want to protect her, but you picked a girl who knows how to be independent. She wants to figure out what happened to her family on her own. You have to respect that."   "What if she finds out something terrible happened to them? Or that they abandoned her? Wouldn't she want me- or at least someone else to be there to comfort her?"   He wasn't telling Lucy the whole truth. Gray had a bad feeling. He couldn't give a reason or proof, but he felt that Juvia was being tricked. By who, or why, he didn't have a clue. But it had him on edge, and that was why he was trying to get Master Makarov to tell him where Juvia had gone.   "I can't tell you that I understand exactly what she's thinking," Lucy sighed. She glanced up when she heard Natsu and Gajeel yelling from outside the guild hall. She got to her feet. "I'm gonna go help Levy. But have faith in Juvia, Gray. She'll be home soon enough."   As Lucy walked away to deal with the two dragon slayers, his thoughts drifted dark again. Juvia was a powerful wizard. She could have enemies from her Phantom Lord days. He had a lot of enemies. Fairy Tail had a lot of enemies. There were so many reasons that someone might want to hurt her. But to convince her through a letter that they had information about her parents? It either had to be real, or someone very sophisticated in their plan to catch her.

  Juvia stared out the window of the train as it left the station of a small mountain town. Though deep within her heart she was rather lonely on this journey thus far, there was certainly something to be said about riding the train in peace and quiet, without the usual dragon slayer dry heaving on the floor of the car. She usually took jobs that included Gajeel, and occasionally she would join Team Natsu, so she was used to dealing with their motion sickness. But being by herself gave her lots of time to think. To reflect on her life in Fairy Tail as the train rattled along to its final destination, and Juvia's home.   She had not been to Foxglove in over ten years, having only her earliest memories to remind her of her childhood in the orphanage before her mother's estranged brother discovered his niece was still alive and taken her in. This life of hers before she had joined Phantom Lord was not filled with happy memories. It was in the orphanage that she became alienated from the other children because her rain curse began. That was also where her habit of creating teru-teru bozu dolls came from, the nuns who ran the orphanage having taught her how to make them to drive the rain away. Her uncle had been a mean and nasty man who hated the rain and treated Juvia like dirt. He didn't know anything about her parents, either, never informed of how they died and never mentioning a thing about them; she only knew her mother's name. Juvia ran away from him when she was sixteen. Not long after that would she come across Phantom Lord, and Jose, seeing the vast magical potential in the fledgling water mage, offered her a position within his guild.   Juvia sighed. It wasn't as if her life in Phantom Lord was as bad as her life before it, but it certainly wasn't happy compared to how she felt now. Phantom Lord was a cold and lonely guild, with relationships built on strength and the guild itself fixated on remaining the most powerful in Fiore. Still, she had made friends there, including Gajeel, so she couldn't say she was never happy; but it was clear to her that Jose was only interested in her for her power. Behind Aria, she had been the second strongest member of the Element Four.   Her life had changed so much, starting the moment the rain parted and she saw the sun for the first time since she was a little girl. Of course, thinking of that event in time only brought her thoughts to the one who had driven the clouds away; her beloved Gray. Relationship being considered or not, it was hard to argue that anyone else had a more significant impact on her as a person than him. She counted her blessings every day that he was in her life, as she had seen what losing him felt like once and Juvia never wanted to feel that pain ever again. Despite Gray forcing her to promise to never do something like what she did during his fight with Invel again, there was not a bone in her body that wouldn't make that sacrifice if he was in danger and it was their only option. She truly had resolved to heed her own words and live for love however, to live for him, as he had done the same for her. Oh how she missed him.   There were not many trains that made the journey up the mountain to rainy, secluded Foxglove, and she was grateful that this one did. Juvia leaned against the window in an attempt to get the imaginary Gray sitting in the seat across from her out of her mind, and mentally re-read the letter she had received. We have some records here in your name that have never been unsealed. If you would like, you should come to Foxglove and collect them.  We would love to see your sweet face one last time, and the beautiful woman you've grown into!   The instant Juvia had opened the letter, she knew what she had to do and that she had to do it by herself. When Gray begged her to take him along, concerned for her wellbeing, her heart had fluttered so rapidly she thought it might burst from her chest; but truthfully, Juvia didn't know what she might discover about her parents, and that was why she had refused any assistance and only told Master Makarov where exactly she was going. She didn't want anyone following her, though she couldn't remember if she had mentioned Foxglove to Gajeel or not. Juvia giggled a bit at the thought; for someone who feigned disinterest in nearly everything, that big oaf had a really good memory. He was actually just a big softie, but with metal screws.   Juvia didn't even notice she had fallen asleep until the train's horn went off as it pulled into Foxglove Station. She blinked sleep out of her eyes and collected her small bag of things before quickly making her way off the train. In the pit of her stomach, she could already feel the nerves gathering at the thought of what was going to transpire. Juvia had booked a room at the town's inn, planning to pick up the records immediately from the orphanage and then retire to her suite to mull them over. She had enough money set aside for about a week's stay, so if she needed to be alone and mull over any particularly upsetting information that she might learn. Part of her was angry at herself for not taking anyone along, that she might crave company in the aftermath that learning about her family and her past might leave. But she took a deep breath and reminded herself that this was the correct action - to go alone.   Whispers of recognition fled past her as she made her way to the orphanage in the center of the purple-hued town, but not because of her origins there. She felt herself swell with pride as the people around her buzzed excitedly of her more recent merits. Isn't that the famous wizard Juvia, of Fairy Tail? The one who uses water magic and declared her love for her guildmate Gray to everyone at the first Grand Magic Games that Fairy Tail won? She's amazing! She was part of the last day's group that year! I heard she's incredibly kind and resourceful as well! She's even more beautiful in person than in the magazines! Well, what else do you expect of Fairy Tail?   Juvia was filled with a happy warmth as she climbed the steps to the orphanage door and reached up to knock. Juvia of Fairy Tail. That certainly was a title she liked much more than her previous Phantom Lord one. Her life in Fairy Tail was everything to her; it had all her friends, and especially Gray, and so many happy memories waiting for her to return. She would never let anything take her away from that. Her memories would be what comforted her if she found sadness in the records.   When the double doors opened, she immediately recognized the nun who answered. Her smiling face brightened upon recognition of the little Juvia that had once been growing up in the building she stood before now. Juvia was hastily invited in, and brought through the courtyard past smiling children who also recognized her. The courtyard was not a happy place for Juvia, as it reminded her of how no one ever got to play outside because of the rain she brought. She politely asked to continue through.   "I see the rain has stopped," her guide said cheerfully.   "Yes it has, thanks to a wonderful man in my life."   "Oh well, isn't that sweet? You deserve someone who cares for you so. What can we thank for your visit, Miss Lockser?" The nun asked sweetly as she poured Juvia a cup of tea.   She took the cup gratefully and was about to explain when she paused. They had sent the letter, hadn't they? So they knew she would travel to Foxglove, they would be expecting her visit.   "I received a letter, that said you found unsealed records in my name," Juvia spoke with a suspicious edge to her voice. "So I was hoping I could come to collect them."   The nun blinked at her. "Miss Lockser... there were never records of your past here. You were brought here by strangers who found you wandering on your own; we were never even sure if you were from Fiore. That's why it took so long for your uncle to be approved as caregiver. We had nothing to compare to. The only thing we took was that he knew your name, honestly."   Juvia felt a sinking feeling in her chest, all previous happiness gone. Suddenly she wished she had taken Gray up on his offer to come with her. That he might hold her while she cried the tears that threatened her now. This was even worse news than any information that she could have learned.   "I understand. Perhaps there was a mix up and I received the letter meant for someone else."   "I'm so very sorry. If you'd like, you can stay in town for a few days and I can let you check anyway," the nun answered. "Maybe you can spend some with the children here as well. They'd love you, I'm sure."   Juvia wiped her eyes. There was no hiding the tears now as they fell. She insisted she was fine, however, and politely chatted with the nun for a bit before excusing herself so that she might check into the inn she had reserved for herself. On her way down the steps of the orphanage, she pulled out the small communication lacrima that Master Makarov had insisted she bring with her; now she was grateful for it, because she was lonely and a bit suspicious. She decided to call the guild hall itself and ask whoever answered if she could talk to Gray. Juvia resolved to tell him she was in Foxglove, because she desperately wanted him here with her now.   Just as the lacrima connected to the one back at Fairy Tail, Juvia felt a sudden chill rush through her body. Goosebumps bristled her skin, and she felt her pace quicken. She looked around wildly, but no one around her seemed as panicked.   "Hey, sweetheart!" Someone called to her. She kept her head down, focused on the lacrima in her hands.   "Beauty with the blue hair, I'm talking to you!" The voice seemed to be following her.   "Juvia Lockser!"   The sound of her name reverberated through her ears. They only knew her name... because she was a well-known member of Fairy Tail...   "Ame Onna!"   She stopped dead in her tracks. Hearing her Phantom Lord name brought up emotions in her that she had kept down for so long. It had been one thing for the nun at the orphanage to mention the rain surrounding her was gone - because that had reminded her of the man who changed her life, and who loved her. But to call her that accursed name, was to remind her of a life she never wanted to go back to. I am not the Rain Woman!   With her Water Body beginning to boil as her anger rose, in preparation for the use of her Sierra spell, Juvia turned around to angrily face the man calling to her. "You better have a good reason to call me-"   Juvia stopped speaking immediately, cutting herself off when she recognized the man who stood before her. "You-"   And she was cut off again, but this time by the man himself. Because he had shouted "Raging Thunder!" and caught Juvia off guard by a powerful lightning spell that electrocuted her Water Body - more painful than when she had struck Laxus's Thunder Palace to save Cana - and eliciting a bloodcurdling scream from her mouth. One that a certain Mirajane Strauss heard before Juvia dropped and shattered the lacrima that had been in her hands.   Juvia dropped to the ground when the spell stopped, all of her strength sapped from her immediately. As she lay barely holding on to consciousness, she wondered vaguely if she didn't have such a strong magic core, whether or not that attack would have killed her.   The man stepped forward and lifted Juvia's limp body from the ground, bringing her closer to his face and allowing her to indeed confirm that he was the man she recognized, a man from her past that she had not seen in years. Another set of feet were suddenly heard coming up to her, and Juvia wondered for a split second if someone was coming to her rescue. When the newcomer spoke however, a horrified expression appeared on Juvia's face. Her worst nightmare come to life.   "I knew one day you would return to me, Juvia Lockser. My Ame Onna."

  Mirajane wasted no time in informing Master Makarov what she had just witnessed, and he in turn wasted no time in rushing across the guild hall to where Team Natsu sat, along with Gajeel and Levy. He went right to Gray's side, knowing he was the one who most deserved to know.   "I fear that Gray's hunch was correct," he told the table, causing the young man to sit up. "His instinct to travel with Juvia was correct, but both Juvia and I were fooled. One of our own is in grave danger."   "What's happened to her?" Erza asked sharply, when Gray only clenched his fist in response.   "We aren't actually sure," Mira admitted. "She called on a lacrima, and when I picked up I saw her being electrocuted and all I heard was her scream. I think she dropped the lacrima because only a moment later the line went dead."   "Oh no!" Lucy gasped, covering her mouth with her hands in shock.   "Where is she?" Gray asked coldly, getting to his feet. "Tell me where she went."   "I'd bet she went to Foxglove," Gajeel crossed his arms and looked to their guild master. "Didn't she?"   "You knew?!" Gray turned his fury to the iron dragon slayer when the master nodded. "You knew and you didn't tell me?"   "If Juvia turned away your offer to come with her, it was clear to me she wanted to go alone. I wanted to respect her wishes," Gajeel turned his face away from him. "Foxglove is a small mountain village in the north, and Juvia grew up for a couple years in the orphanage there. Only one train heads up there. If we're gonna go after her, we better head out soon."   "Of course we're going after her," he gritted his teeth. "I won't let anything else happen to her."   Gray left the table and headed for the door without waiting for anyone else to follow. Everyone still present at the table looked between each other. An air of fear for the safety of their friend hung heavy between them until Gajeel stood up.   "C'mon Lily," he called to his Exceed. "Stripper ain't the only one concerned about Juvia. We're going too."   At his side, Levy also got to her feet. "I’d better go too, to make sure things don't get too heated between the two of them."   "We'll stay here at the guild just in case something else comes up," Erza offered her. "Perhaps Lucy and I can try and figure out who would attack Juvia?"   The celestial wizard nodded. "Be safe, Levy. And bring Juvia back, please."   Levy bit her lip. "We will. We have to... for her sake and Gray's."

[jessahmewren]

Miles between us and miles to go. Chapter 6/6

Written for @thexmasfileschallenge and tagging @today-in-fic 

Day 13: Stockings

-0-0-0-

They were nearing the second floor parking garage when the klaxons began to sound.  He knew they had precious few minutes before the doors sealed and they were trapped.  He looked at Scully, still unsure of how to treat her, of what to say.  She descended the stairs alongside him, her hand entwined in his, the contact passionless and necessary.  Her eyes were cast downward, perhaps gauging their rapid descent, perhaps somewhere else entirely.

Mulder pressed his back against the wall, surveying the foyer that led to the parking garage through the small window in the stairwell door.  It was too open, too exposed.  They would have to risk it.  

Together, they slipped into the brightly lit hall, headed for the exit.  

-0-0-0-

Skinner’s phone rang twice before he reached it.  It was Mulder, and he rarely called him unless he needed something.  He heard the rain and the road noise first over dead air, then Mulder’s clear voice cut in. “Skinner, it’s me.”  A perfunctory greeting he usually neglected.  He heard him take a breath.  “I need you do something for me.”

The windshield wipers punctuated every blank syllable over the phone as Skinner looked up at the few agents that were still lingering after the day’s meeting.  He wordlessly saw them out with just a glance.

When they had gone, he lowered his voice.  “What’s this about, Mulder?”

“I need you to smooth things over with the hospital where Scully was.”  The change in tense was not lost on him.  “Make it look like we were apprehended, captured not far from Bethesda Medical Center.  Can you do that?”  

Skinner’s mouth forehead creased.  “Apprehended for what, Agent Mulder?”  Mulder simply pursed his lips.  

“Can you just do this please?”    

“Sure,” he said tensely, “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Mulder looked at Scully, who seemed oblivious to their conversation.  “She needed to get out of there Skinner.”  

There was a pause on the other end.  Skinner seemed to accept that, and he certainly trusted his judgment where Scully was concerned.

“Ok,” he said, and ended the call.

-0-0-0-

It was raining steadily when they left the hospital, the alternating straight-down and torrential side assault not uncommon for storms off the Chesapeake.  Scully sat tense and still in the front seat, her elbow propped on the door, two fingers resting over her mouth, staring out the window.  The rain-slicked highway danced with a thousand little lights, and liquid shadows like an old film image warped and distorted the world outside, making the concrete truth of their rental car seem crudely separate instead of warmly familiar like it should have been. They drove in silence.  

“Where are we going?”

It was the first thing she’d said since they left the hospital.  Mulder hesitated, realizing he didn’t really know himself.  “We need to get out of town, keep a low profile for a few hours.”  She said nothing.  “Skinner is issuing a false report, sending it through regular channels.  That should keep us in the clear.”  

Scully looked straight ahead, past the rain.  “Yeah I know, I heard you.”  It was automatic, a knee-jerk response.  

As was mine, he ruminated, the whole affair.  While he didn’t second guess his decision, he wondered about his next move.  She was so volatile now, the thread so tenuous.  He looked at her soft features now angular in the creeping shadows and searched for something to say.  In the end, he said nothing.  There were miles between them and ultimately, miles more to go.  

-0-0-0-

Scully shifted slightly in the seat, absently fiddling with the door handle.  They’d been driving for hours and had said little.  She wanted to say something, wanted to do something, but there were no Hallmark sentiments that seemed appropriate.  She studied his face…his beautiful, driven, determined, focused face.  Single-minded.  Loving. Hers.  He broke in on her thoughts.  “Hey, you hungry?”  They were somewhere in Pennsylvania.  She really didn’t care where.  But she remembered that she was hungry, had been hungry for awhile.  

“Yeah,” she replied.  

----

The Tick-Tock Diner

Easton, PA

----

The Tick-Tock was one of those quaintly retro all-night establishments that was clean and usually had good food.  They pulled up to the side, under the shadow of the big neon clock, and walked in.

They both ordered coffee and breakfast plates.  Scully studied her fork, the scarred green Formica, and remembered she didn’t have any money.  “Oh God Mulder, I don’t—“

”It’s fine,” he interrupted, somehow finishing her thought.  He smiled, and Scully realized that the two of them, either together or apart, had smiled too infrequently in their time together.  Mulder’s smile had the youthful jubilance of a young boy who’d just gotten away with something particularly naughty, and she loved it now as she always had.  

“I don’t even have an I.D.,” she said bemusedly.  Mulder looked at her, his face a perfect, pensive mask.  “Well, if we get drinks later, I’ll do the ordering.”  

She laughed suddenly, a sharp chuckle that took her completely by surprise.  It sounded so alien to her.  She abruptly stopped, suddenly self-conscious.  

They ate in relative, comfortable silence.  Mulder studied her between bites, pleased she was eating, getting her strength back. And she had laughed.  He smiled at the memory.  A deep, throaty chuckle that had ended as quickly as it began.  That little gift was so unexpected, so beautifully spontaneous.  If only she could do that more often.  He silently vowed to give her as many reasons as he could.

“Promise me you won’t hurt yourself again.”

He’d said it before thinking and instantly regretted it.  She stopped eating then and looked at him, an array of emotions playing on her face.  Her eyes slipped closed, her face suddenly stricken.  “I can’t,” she whispered.  “I’m trying, but I can’t promise anything, Mulder.”  She looked at him with such sadness it took his breath.  She pushed her plate back.  “But I am trying.”

“That’s all I ask,” he heard himself say, and instantly realized how arrogant it sounded.  He slipped his hand across the table, carefully grasping her injured one.  “You don’t have to go through this alone.  But if you would just fight.”  His voice was low and his eyes searched her face.  And she realized with some measure of shock that his eyes were wet with tears.  

He drew her hand up to his face and gingerly pressed his cheek into it, the warmth of his tears seeping through her fingers.  “Promise me,” he almost breathed, “that if you won’t fight for yourself, that you’ll fight for me.  Promise me Scully.”  

She exhaled deeply, her eyes closed.  When she opened them, he was looking at her.  His face was warm, tangible.  She nodded quickly, stroking her thumb against his cheek in reply.  

-0-0-0-

While the storm had abated some hours before, they now found themselves in the heart of another downpour. The rain was relentless, pounding so hard it made driving nearly impossible.  He looked over at Scully.  Her shoulders sagged into the seat, her eyes were fixed on the road and glassy with exhaustion.  It was a few hours before dawn, and she needed rest.  They both did.  

“We’re stopping for awhile,” he said finally.  She didn’t protest.

----

Bear Creek Motor Inn

Rural northeast Pennsylvania

----

It was a motel just off the highway, one of those out-of-the-way places that are still family owned and one in which you can usually get a good night’s sleep.  The well-kept complex of buildings was nested in the beautifully painted woods of northern Pennsylvania, making the state a common destination for foliage enthusiasts.  

It was dark, however, and pouring rain, and the normally charming, bucolic scene loomed woeful and foreboding against the pre-dawn landscape.

Mulder and Scully walked quickly through the deluge, sloshing a trail through the generous standing puddles until they made it to the front door.  Mulder approached the desk and waited.  He looked back at Scully, who stood warming herself by a heater in the tiny lobby.  He couldn’t leave her alone, he knew, not yet, couldn’t let her out of his sight. He paid cash for one room, and accepted the key.  

-0-0-0-

Scully stood by the small heater in the shabby lobby and waited for Mulder.  Stay here and keep warm, he’d said to her, the room’s probably chill. She knew the real reason.

He didn’t trust her, and she couldn’t blame him.  She didn’t trust herself.  

She glanced at the kindly old attendant behind the desk, managing a quick smile.  Her watchdog, she gathered.  She turned away, toward the window.  The parking lot gleamed like black glass, neon and halogen light casting the world in a diffuse glow.  Absently, she tracked an oil-slick of rain as it slid lazily down the window, only to dissipate and lose its path.  

For the first time in awhile, she was glad she wasn’t alone.  

-0-0-0-

Mulder popped the trunk and retrieved a small bag of Scully’s and his duffle.  He withdrew Scully’s gun, removed the clip and shoved it in the tire well, out of sight.  Alongside that, he stashed the pistol he’d emptied and hidden in the hospital room. Right now, with Scully, he couldn’t afford to take any chances.  

She was waiting for him in the lobby by the door, her arms folded, staring out into the inky black early morning.  He shouldered his way in, shaking off the rain.  They made their way together into the parking lot.

The room was quaintly furnished and clean.  The two double beds were separated by an end table and a small lamp.  There was a television, a dresser and a small bathroom. The furnishings were austere, functional and, to Mulder at least, entirely acceptable.  

Scully stopped just inside the threshold, as Mulder placed the bags on the bed and shrugged off his wet jacket.  He walked to the far side of the room, to the small closet.  She looked at him, remembering the “guard” he’d posted in the lobby, and wondered what he must think of her.      

“I’m not going to try anything Mulder.”  She swallowed, registering his surprise.  I would never do that to you, she didn’t say.  Not again.

He was standing in front of her now, his face unreadable.  His damp shirt clung to his arms and chest, and his hair was wet.  She was shivering.  “You’re soaked,” he said roughly.  He placed his hands on her arms to quell the shaking there.   They were warm, and she craved more of them. Unexpectedly, she pressed herself against him, hugging him tightly.  His arms encircled her shoulders, her lower back.  He held her in a firm embrace and, momentarily, the gnawing dread that had roared at Scully for so long…the loss of her son, her infertility, the unseen forces that frequently used her and Mulder as pawns against each other…was silenced.  She thought fleetingly that if all of life were this, it might be manageable.  

“Thank you,” she whispered into his neck.  His skin was warm, and she let her lips linger there as if gaining life from his thrumming pulse against her mouth. Mulder smoothed the wet tendrils of her hair as he and Scully stood in each other’s arms, dripping onto the carpet.  

-0-0-0-

Mulder sat on the edge of the bed.  His shirt was off and spread against the heater to dry.  A small stack of clothes from Scully’s overnight bag…a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a pair of Christmas socks with tiny stockings on them (the only ones he could find) were stacked neatly by the bathroom door.

His phone rang.  It was Skinner.  Sometimes he wondered if he ever slept.  

“Are you two ok?”  

“We’re fine,” Mulder said. “We’re in Pennsylvania.”  

“How’s Scully,” Skinner asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Mulder considered, glancing at the closed door of the bathroom where Scully showered.  “She’s better Skinner.  Still got a long way to go.  Did you fix things with the hospital?

Skinner sniffed. “Yeah.  What went on there, Mulder.  Reports say you kidnapped a nurse?”

“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you read in the papers Skinman.”

He heard the bathroom door open.  Scully stood in the doorway, toweling off her hair with her left hand.  A fresh puff of steam followed her, and her cheeks were slightly flushed.  She had changed into the t-shirt and jeans, and her skin was dewy from the shower.  He remembered he was shirtless.

“I’ll call you later Skinner.”  He ended the call, tossing the phone on the bed, and stood.  Scully regarded him easily, allowing her eyes to slip down his smooth torso.  She made no attempt to hide her appreciation of him.  This was the father of her child.  He was hers and she was his. Nothing could change that.  

“Give it a minute for the hot water to catch up,” she said huskily.  She crossed in front of him, to the far bed.  “The water pressure is not that great either.”

Mulder retrieved his shirt to put it on, but she stayed his hand.  Mulder looked at her inquisitively, then closed his eyes as she smoothed her left hand up the length of his torso and around to the back of his neck where she pulled him down to her mouth.  

Mulder was solid against her, warm and alive, and her touch seemed to wake him, for a soon as their lips touched, Mulder became emboldened.  One hand nearly encircled her waste and crushed her to him.  His mouth, that talented mouth, finally broke away from ravishing her lips to do similarly to the tender skin of her ear, her throat, the ivory column of her neck.  His kisses were desperate and unrefined; there was a message in every ministration, a word in every touch.  Mulder’s Morse Code tapped into her skin with the passion of a man possessed.  I love you. I need you.  Don’t leave me.  Don’t ever leave.  Don’t ever die.  Don’t ever scare me like that again.

When he finally released her, she was breathless and a little unsteady, but her eyes were glowing.   She looked down at her damaged arm, the bandage rent.  She looked sheepishly at him.  “I tried to keep it dry; do we have anything?”  

He realized he was staring at her, but he didn’t care.  “Yeah, I actually grabbed some things at the hospital.”  He hesitated, uncertain if she wanted him to help, if she was ok with it. Normally Scully was the doctor in these situations, but she would be working with her opposite hand.  She looked up at him, her eyes large and soft. She sat down on the edge of the bed and held her wrist out to him.  

He took the roll of gauze, tape and scissors from his bag and placed them on the bed.  He sat on the end, turned toward her.  Carefully he snipped away the ruined bandage, revealing the wound underneath.  She didn’t look away.  He held the slender arm in his hands, gently rolling it into the light to get a better look. The slashes were deep and ugly, but the stitches held.  She was healing.  

A lump rose in his throat as he looked at that mangled arm, at the woman who owned it.  Their eyes met over the scars, hers glistening with unspent tears.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, as a tear escaped down her cheek.  

He looked at her fully.  “Don’t be,” Mulder said quietly, and wiped away the offending tear, allowing his fingers to slip behind her ear, to rest along her hairline.  “You shouldn’t be sorry for anything.”  

He tipped her chin up so she had to look at him.  “What happens now happens to us, not just you or me.  Us.  And what we do about it, we decide together.”  She nodded mutely.

He bowed his head, chewing his lower lip.  “I should have been there when you made that decision.” He swallowed hard, finding it difficult to even speak his son’s name.  “But I won’t fail you again Scully.  You have my word.  I will be here no matter what and to whatever end.”  

A single tear slipped down her cheek.  She stroked the side of his face, looking a bit lost.  “Do you ever miss him Mulder?”  

He gathered her up in his arms, rocking her gently. “Every day, Scully.  I miss him every day.”

-0-0-0-

[emeraldembers]

Fic: After the Rain (Baze Malbus/Chirrut Imwe, R)

This is the rough draft of my gift for @lionmettled for the spiritassassin exchange! The prompt was “Baze and Chirrut fuck in a hot tub”. There’s a fair bit more work I want to do on this before considering it finished (there’s a scene I need to add in, tone fixing to do, and a fair bit of rewording to be done yet), but I was determined to at least get the draft finished so you wouldn’t be without something on the day of the reveal. Love you to pieces darling and I’m so happy I got assigned to you!

* * *

Title: After the Rain

Fandom: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story

Pairing: Baze Malbus/Chirrut Imwe

Summary: In which Baze has depression and Chirrut knows this isn’t something he can fix, but a frolic in a hot tub isn’t going to hurt matters.

Author’s Notes: Written for the prompt “Baze and Chirrut fuck in a hot tub” for Lionmettled in the 2017 spiritassassin fic exchange.

* * *

Chirrut could not remember the last time Baze had showered, and had long learned not to mind how Baze smelled after a few days of strenuous activity without strenuous cleaning, but his hands told him the worst of it. The last few nights he had come to bed to find Baze quiet and still, and found himself holding conversations with Baze that were monologues more than anything else, delivered while he untied Baze's braids.

Untying Baze's braids was a ritual that helped them both to sleep, Baze soothed by the contact and Chirrut by the repetition, and Chirrut had noticed the film of grease on his fingertips on finishing that ritual. Others would not comment on Baze's appearance, too intimidated by Baze's height or Chirrut's mercurial temper, but Chirrut trusted his hands. Baze needed to wash, for his health alone if nothing else, and Chirrut was determined to help him in that regard.

There had been times like this before; times when no lessons from Masters or tinctures brewed from herbs and flowers could soothe Baze's wounds, times when Baze would have fits of anger followed by drawn out periods of sorrow, and he could barely summon words at all, let alone form full sentences. Chirrut would wait out such times with Baze, reassuring him with words, or just his presence, that he had no intentions of abandoning his love over an illness that could not be cured, only treated and endured.

It seemed cruel that for all of his training as a Guardian, the man Chirrut loved most had an enemy he could not fight by hand.

The flash floods had been kind this year, filling reservoirs around the city and its outskirts to the point of spilling, and several hotspots for tourism and pilgrimage had taken advantage of the waters, renting equipment they would normally have no use for from other planets. All wastewater would find its way to Jedha's farmlands in the end, and Chirrut saw no harm in making use of it while it was abundant; sonic showers left him off balance long enough to be discomforting, and he had friends enough in the city to find hot water at a decent price when the floods were this generous.

He did not have to pay extra to bring Baze along with him. It was simply a given that where Chirrut went, Baze followed; they had slept side by side long before enjoying other forms of intimacy.

"You didn't need to do this," Baze muttered when Chirrut took his wrist and lead him through the inn's corridors to the rented hot tub, Chirrut tsking in response.

"Where would the fun lie if I needed to?" Chirrut asked, the sudden cling of humidity to his skin an alien sensation. Rain was rare enough on Jedha that he doubted he would ever get used to wet skin, and he walked over to the hot tub with carefully extended hands, grinning as he found its edges. "Close the door."

A clicking sound, then, "It doesn't lock."

"I don't care," Chirrut said cheerily, gracelessly tugging off his robes before turning and folding his arms. "Help me in."

Clattering and shushing sounds as Baze removed his own robes, then Baze's voice closer than expected, "You asked."

Chirrut found himself unceremoniously lifted up and thrown into the tub, though Baze had at least aimed so that he didn't hit his head on landing, and Chirrut glared in what he hoped was Baze's direction once he managed to find seating in the tub. "You found your sense of humour," Chirrut said, listening carefully as Baze climbed in, and Baze sighed before wrapping his arms around Chirrut's shoulders, holding him close.

He stayed there for quite some time, and Chirrut let his own arms settle around Baze's waist, holding him in turn, tilting his head to press into Baze's neck. Sleeping by Baze's side was something he took for granted on occasion, though at least he was aware of that habit, but it had been too long since he had held Baze for no other reason than wanting to. Not out of habit, not out of any sense of duty as a friend or as his love, but because it felt good to have that solidity pressed against him.

"Is the door a problem for you?" Chirrut asked, digging his fingers into the soft give of Baze's sides and closing his eyes, enjoying the sensation.

"No. You?"

Chirrut shook his head and pressed a kiss against Baze's neck as his answer, before Baze pushed him away slightly, just enough to take hold of Chirrut's hand and bring it between his legs. Chirrut laughed, happy to find Baze stirring at his touch; so often Baze's condition and the treatments for it made it difficult for him to enjoy sex, and it was flattering to find Baze hard for him despite that.

"This is your fault," Baze said, and Chirrut kissed him, felt a smile on Baze's lips that mirrored his own.

"I should be ashamed of myself," Chirrut deadpanned, kissing Baze again, and again, stroking him with quick, firm tugs of his hand, paying attention to what Baze liked more than what could draw things out. He was still soft between his own legs, but that only made it easier to keep a steady pace, to find time to stroke down Baze's chest with his free hand, feeling the catch of wet skin on wet skin, the way water softened what little hair grew on Baze's stomach.

"Chirrut," Baze said, "I -"

That was as much warning as Chirrut got before Baze shuddered against him and came, the slickness of it quickly washing away to nothing in the hot water, and Chirrut brought both hands up to Baze's head, pulled Baze to him to press their foreheads together until Baze's breathing settled.

"Technically, we booked an hour in here," Chirrut said, stroking his hands through Baze's hair, and feeling Baze's weight sink against him more and more, answering the question he didn't get to ask.

It was a good nap, Baze reassured him later, though the company left something to be desired.

[theclaravoyant]

AN ~ for the Anon who prompted (paraphrased):

Genderfluid!Daisy getting drunk and trying to come out to their partner(s)

For the ship of my choice I decided to try my hand at some TripDaisy, and while I don’t think it came out (*ba dum tsh*) as fluffy as you may have intended, I hope the mild angst/hurt/comfort/fluff blend is satisfying :) Hope you like it!

Read on AO3 (~1300wd). Rated light T.

-

now take a hold of your soul

The small club buzzed with life as Daisy Johnson sat at the bar, casually nursing a lemonade as she looked around for someone she was expecting. She beamed when, at last, she saw Trip enter at the other end of the room. As he passed the tables and the dance floor, looking for her, the strobing pink and green lights shone richly on his dark skin, and on his white teeth that shone across the room at her when he beamed back. He opened his arms as he got close, and Daisy slid off her seat, waving for their first round of drinks before embracing him with a kiss.

“Congratulations!” she called, over the music. “You did a great job today! So glad to see you’re finally getting some recognition!”

“You know what they say though,” Trip said, brushing her off, although his humble smile glowed. “Behind every great man is a woman –“

“Shoving him full of congratulatory drinks?” Daisy suggested, holding up one shot for herself, and one for him. “The first one’s the good stuff. It gets more budget after that ‘cause I’m not made of money, but cheers!”

Trip laughed. “Cheers!”

They tapped their glasses together and threw the shots back, and then Daisy pointed a finger at the jukebox. Someone she’d paid earlier dropped a selection, and the iconic 80s drumbeats filled the bar.

“Ooh!” Trip called. “This is my jam!”

Daisy laughed. She’d never met a man with more jams than Trip, and the enthusiasm with which he beckoned her out onto the dancefloor was enough to draw the attention of half the bar. With eyes on them, Trip leaned into it, pretending to throw a lasso around her and pull her toward him before both of them launched into a semi-co-ordinated dance. Whether it was nostalgia or infectious enthusiasm, Daisy was pleased to find that the rest of the crowd got in on the action with ease. Dancing, singing, and eventually, karaoke, made for an even better night than Daisy had planned, and by the time she and Trip had retired to one of the booths – both tipsy, sweaty, and breathing hard – she was riding a high of sugar, alcohol, and endorphins.

“Love you,” she murmured, cuddling into his chest even though they had the whole booth to themselves. “’m proud of you. You know that? You are bad. Ass.”

“Well, thank you, I am,” Trip agreed, turning his glass between his fingers with pride and a little drunkenness swelling his chest. “That’s why we make a perfect pair.”

“Shux.” Daisy grinned a slow, lazy grin, and lay her chin on her hands on the table. She was drunk enough to feel warm, and Trip’s hand was strolling over her back, and if she sunk any further into relaxation, she reckoned, she’d soon start purring like a cat. The sugar high was wearing off, for now. Either that, or she was ascending a level of drunkenness. Probably both, as the still-dancing crowd seemed to blur in time and colour before her eyes. “Geez, how are those guys still going?”

Trip laughed. “When did you turn into such an old granny?”

“The body is willing,” Daisy explained. “The 5am starts are not.”

“Oh, shit, May’s gonna freak –“ Trip very nearly giggled, and Daisy giggled too, her nose crinkling as she did.

“Nah, I got tomorrow off. Gotta treat my man to a proper congratulations!” She slapped his chest – slowly, drunkenly, fluidly and inaccurately – in praise. Then fell into it, and settled there, her face a little mashed into his chest, where she whispered: “Damn, you’re ripped.”

“Oh, you like that?” Trip raised one of his arms, showing off his guns to Daisy, who poked it with a finger.

“You have really nice muscles,” she said. “And a nice face. And a nice ass.”

“Damn right,” Trip agreed. “And I think this ass wants to get us some water, hm?”

“Hate to watch you walk away,” Daisy agreed, mashing the saying into one. Trip headed back to the bar, dancing so that his hips gyrated exaggeratedly, and Daisy, true to her word, watched. By the time he had fetched the jug of water and returned though, the alcohol and the sugar crash and the warped way that time worked when she was drunk - and that time being spent alone – was bringing Daisy down, fast. The smile had faded from her face and she stared at the blue liquid that was her cocktail, as if she could see straight through it to something that still, somehow, meant nothing. Trip swapped the cocktail out for a glass of water and Daisy looked up at him: part of her still distant, but part of her surprised. Maybe even surprised that he’d come back.

“Do you think I’m a freak?” she asked.

“Nah, man,” Trip insisted. “I mean, only in the good ways.”

Daisy snorted derisively, and took a swig of the water, and pulled a face. She’d been looking forward to restoring the sugar high, but she knew water was better for now.

“They’re all bad ways,” she said. “I never fit.”

“Hey, the way things are going, if everyone fit, the world would be a way worse place,” Trip pointed out. “And besides – you fit with some people. The important people. You fit with me, right?”

Daisy sighed.

“I don’t know.”

Trip frowned. He shifted his seat, moving back to Daisy’s side and pulling her into his arms.

“Hey, now, where’s this coming from?” he crooned. “You and me are good, girl. Don’t get down on yourself about that. There’s plenty else in the world to worry about, but not that.”

Daisy shook her head.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked.

“Always.”

“Sometimes… I don’t always feel like girl. Which is crazy because like, I don’t even know what feeling like a girl is supposed to feel like – like that’s crazy, right, how is that a thing – but like… I feel like I just know sometimes. I’m wrong.”

“No,” Trip assured her. “You’re not wrong, Daisy. You’re here. Your existence... is what it is, but it's not wrong. You matter, no matter what. Hey. How long have you been feeling like this?” Daisy shrugged.

“I dunno. My whole life, I guess. I thought it would go away when I found out all the Inhuman stuff but it never really did. It’s just what I am. Just another freaky layer to the freak onion that is my life.”

Trip squeezed her in a hug, kissed her hair and whispered in her ear: “I love the freak onion. Don’t you forget it. And you know, you’re not alone. There’s words for people like you.”

“Yeah, -“

“Nice words,” Trip interrupted, before she could start on a list.

Daisy pouted. “If you start spouting some cheesy shit like ‘hero’ or something I’m getting a cab.”

“You are a hero, whether you like it or not,” Trip pointed out, “but that’s not what I meant. I mean, there’s a whole bunch of people out there who don’t feel like they’re what they were born as -”

“I’m not-“ Daisy started, but Trip didn’t let her cut him off.

“- and some of those people only feel it some of the time. Like, there’s this thing called ‘genderfluid.’ I don’t remember much about it, it came up in Group once, but it’s pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it? Must be where your gender, is like… fluid.”

Daisy took a long drink of water. Trip took this as a reminder, and poured himself one too. And they started again.

“Gender…fluid…” Daisy murmured, pulling out her phone and googling the term. She squinted at some of the articles through her drunkenness. “That’s cool. Lots of gender binary bullshit though. You sure it’s really a thing?”

“Yeah. If you read what people actually talk about, people who experience it, a lot of it sounds like what you said just now. I mean, maybe consider again it when it’s not 2am and we’re not pretty heavily inn—in—well, drunk.” He laughed at himself. “But I’m pretty sure it’s a thing.”

“And – and I mean if it is,” Daisy put forward. “You don’t mind?”

“Look, I’ve revealed a lot of things I’ve regretted at 2am DNMs,” Trip said, “so if you wake up tomorrow and want to forget this whole thing, that’s fine. But if you follow the trail and it means something, I’m here for you. Names, pronouns, the whole shtick if you want.”

“Thanks, but I mean for you,” Daisy pressed. “For us. I mean, if I’m not a girl all the time – that sort of means you’re… not straight all the time.”

Trip shrugged.

“I’m easy, girl. Man. Whichever.” He grinned. “And if it turns out I swing more ways than I thought I did yesterday then that’s fine with me.”

He leaned back against the seat, smooth as a player, with a falsely self-aggrandising grin that, gradually, coaxed a smile out of Daisy at last. Then, more sincerely, he reached for her hand and looked into her eyes.

“Look, Daisy, you’ve always been special,” he said. “You’re an orphan with a family. You’re a human alien. You’re a hero, but you’re also an oxymoron, and that doesn’t mean you’re a freak. Not in a bad way. It just means you were never going to fit in someone’s neat little boxes, and that’s okay. ‘Specially since, you know, ticking boxes - you’re doing that left right and centre, as far as I’m concerned.”

Daisy groaned silently, but she was still smiling.

“I tick your boxes? That’s what you’re going with?”

Trip nodded, a sparkle of mischief back in his eyes as he became satisfied that the worst of Daisy’s drunken despair had passed.

“You’re welcome,” he said. “I’ll be here all week.”

Daisy rolled her eyes.

“Shut up and drink your water, babe,” she said, and she drank too.

[citizen0ne]

Have Humans Been Abducted by Extraterrestrials? A prestigious Harvard psychiatrist, John Edward Mack, thought so. His sudden death leaves behind many mysteries.

                 BY RALPH BLUMENTHAL  MAY 10, 2013 12:00 AM

If you’re abducted by alien beings, are you physically absent?

Anne Ramsey Cuvelier’s Victorian mansion in Newport, Rhode Island, where, once a year, alien experiencers gather and exchange stories. Inset, John Edward Mack at Harvard University, where he earned his medical degree in 1955., Courtesy of Anne Ramsey Cuvelier (house), courtesy of JPL-Caltech/UCLA/NASA (cosmos), courtesy of the family of John E. Mack (Mack).

This happens to be an important issue for the media-shy people gathered one afternoon last July on the porch of Anne Ramsey Cuvelier’s blue Victorian inn on Narragansett Bay, in Rhode Island, once called “the most elegantly finished house ever built in Newport.” Co-designed in 1869 by a cousin of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s, it has been in Cuvelier’s family since 1895, when her great-grandfather bought it as a summer getaway from his winter home blocks away, just as the Gilded Age cottages of the Vanderbilts and Astors began springing up across the island, redefining palatial extravagance. Still imposing with its butternut woodwork, ebony trimmings, and four-story paneled atrium frescoed in the Pompeian style, the harborside mansion turned B&B seemed a fittingly baroque setting for the group of reluctant guests Cuvelier describes as “not a club anyone wants to belong to.”

She had gathered them to compare experiences as, well, “experiencers,” a term they prefer to “abductees,” and to socialize free of stigma among peers. Cuvelier, an elegant and garrulous woman in her 70s, isn’t one of them. But she remembers as a teen in the 1940s hearing her father, Rear Admiral Donald James Ramsey, a World War II hero, muttering about strange flying craft that hovered and streaked off at unimaginable speed, and she’s been an avid ufologist ever since. “I want to get information out so these people don’t have to suffer,” she says. “Nobody believes you. You go through these frightening experiences, and then you go through the ridicule.”

So, for a week each summer for almost two decades, she’s been turning away paying guests at her family’s Sanford-Covell Villa Marina, on the cobblestoned waterfront in Newport, to host these intimate gatherings of seemingly ordinary folk with extraordinary stories, along with the occasional sympathetic medical professional and scientist and other brave or foolhardy souls not afraid to be labeled nuts for indulging a fascination with the mystery. I had been invited as a journalist with a special interest who has been talking to some of them for several years.

Betty and Barney Hill pose with John G. Fuller’s book The Interrupted Journey, which chronicles the 1961 abduction that the two say they experienced. © Splash News/Corbis.

Perched on a wicker settee was Linda Cortile, a mythic figure in the canons of abduction literature, whom I’d come to know by her real name, Linda Napolitano. A stylish young grandmother in a green T-shirt, black shorts, and a charcoal baseball cap, she had agreed to meet me months before at Manhattan’s South Street Seaport to point at her 12th-floor window overlooking the Brooklyn Bridge, where, she says, one night in 1989 three small beings levitated her “like an angel” into a hovering craft in view of horrified witnesses, including, it was said, a mysterious world figure who might have been abducted with her. “If I was hallucinating,” she told me, “then the witnesses saw my hallucination. That sounds crazier than the whole abduction phenomenon.”

A plaque in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, commemorating the Hills’ experience as “the first widely-reported UFO abduction report in the United States.”, © Splash News/Corbis.

The short-haired Florida woman in white capris and a fuchsia flowered blouse was, like Cuvelier, not herself an abductee but the niece of two and the co-author of a book on the first widely publicized and most famous abduction case of all. Kathleen Marden, the director of abduction research for the Mutual UFO Network, or MUFON, one of the oldest and largest U.F.O.-investigating groups, was 13 in 1961, when her aunt and uncle Betty and Barney Hill returned from a trip through the White Mountains of New Hampshire with the stupefying tale of having been chased by a giant flying disc that hovered over the treetops. They said they had stopped for a look with binoculars, spotted humanoid figures in the craft and, overcome with terror, sped away with their car suddenly enveloped in buzzing vibrations. They reached home inexplicably hours late and afterward recovered memories of having been taken into the ship and subjected to frightening medical probes. Their car showed some peculiar markings, and Betty’s dress had been ripped, the zipper torn. She remembered that the aliens had fumbled with her zipper before disrobing her for a pregnancy test with a needle in her navel. I was surprised to hear from Marden (but confirmed it) that the garment is preserved at the University of New Hampshire, in Durham.

Also present was Barbara Lamb, a tanned and gold-coiffed psychotherapist and family counselor from Claremont, California, who studies crop circles, the enigmatic patterns left in fields, often in England, and practices regression therapy, treating personality disorders by taking people back to previous lives. She told me what she remembered happened to her about seven years earlier: “I was walking through my home and there was standing this reptilian being. It was three in the afternoon. I was alert and awake. I was startled somebody was there.” Ordinarily, Lamb said, she is repulsed by snakes and lizards, “but he was radiating such a nice feeling. I went right over and had my hand out. He was taller than I, this close to me”—she held her hands a foot apart—“with yellow reptile eyes. Then he was suddenly gone.” She said she had recalled more of the encounter when a colleague put her through hypnotic regression. “He said telepathically, ‘Ha, Barbara, good, good. Now you know that we are actually real. We do exist and have contacts with certain people.’”

Chatting with this group were two astrophysicists from a leading institution and the director of the Harvard-affiliated McLean Hospital Southeast. I was intrigued by these eminent outsiders, who may have been risking their careers.

But I was interested most of all in the dead man who remained an icon to many on the porch. John Edward Mack, a Pulitzer Prize–winning biographer and Harvard Medical School psychiatrist, spent years trying to fathom their stories and reached an astonishing conclusion: they were telling the truth. That is, they were not insane or deluded; in some unknown space/time dimension, something real had actually happened to them—not that Mack could explain just what or how. But weeks after attending the 2004 Newport gathering, days before his 75th birthday, he looked the wrong way down a London street and stepped in front of a drunk driver.

Aside from those of his circle and university colleagues, Mack is scarcely known today. But 20 years ago, when he burst onto the scene as the Harvard professor who believed in alien abduction, he was probably the most famous, or infamous, academic in America, “the most important scientist ever to dare to admit the truth about the abduction phenomenon,” in the words of Whitley Strieber, whose best-selling memoir, Communion, introduced millions of Americans to alien encounters.

Tall, impulsive, and magnetic to women and men, Mack was everywhere, or so it seemed—on OprahandNova; on the best-seller lists; in The New York Times, The Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, and Time; at his Laurance S. Rockefeller–supported Program for Extraordinary Experience Research; in scholarly journals, documentaries, poems, theater pieces, and Roz Chast cartoons. And then suddenly he was under investigation at Harvard, the target of a grueling inquisition. “I didn’t think people would believe me,” Mack had confided to his longtime assistant, Leslie Hansen, who was in Newport last July. “But I didn’t think they’d get so mad.” In the end he achieved a measure of vindication, but his freakish demise denied him a final reckoning in an unpublished manuscript he saw as his cri de coeur against scientific materialism and “ontological fascism.”

He left behind another unpublished manuscript, with another mystery he was seeking to unravel, a secret as dark as death itself. And now his interrupted journey may be heading to the big screen. After a four-year negotiation, the film and television rights to Mack’s story were granted by the Mack family to MakeMagic Productions, which has partnered with Robert Redford’s Wildwood Enterprises, and a major feature film is currently in development. But two decades after Mack took alien abduction from the pages of the National Enquirer to the hallowed halls of Harvard, the question remains: why would a pillar of the psychiatric establishment at America’s oldest university court professional suicide to champion the most ridiculed and tormented outcasts of society?

On Cuvelier’s porch, a Vermont shopkeeper who wanted to be known as “Nona”—the way Mack identified her in Passport to the Cosmos, his 1999 follow-up to Abduction—remembered filling 300 pages with “abduction recollections,” which Mack struggled to accept as real. Had she actually traveled on shafts of crystalline light? “John, I know when I’m physically gone,” she remembered replying. “I know when I’m going through a wall.” Mack had had one nagging disappointment, Nona recalled. He had never undergone an abduction, or even spied a U.F.O. Why can’t I see one?, he wondered. Nona would twit him. “Probably because you’re not patient enough, John.”

‘I was raised as the strictest of materialists,” Mack told the writer C. D. B. Bryan. “I believed we were kind of alone in this meaningless universe, on this sometimes verdant rock with these animals and plants around, and we were here to make the best of it, and when we’re dead, we’re dead.” A great-grandfather of his had pioneered the use of anesthetics in eye surgery, and a great-uncle had been one of the first Jewish professors at Harvard Medical School. His father, Edward, was a noted literary biographer and scholar at the City College of New York who had remarried a widow with a young daughter after his wife died of peritonitis eight months after John was born. John’s socially prominent stepmother, Ruth Prince, was an eminent feminist economist and New Dealer whose first husband, a great-grandson of the founder of Gimbels department store, had jumped or fallen from the 16th floor of the Yale Club as the Great Depression deepened.

John Edward Mack with his then wife, Sally, and their first child, Daniel, in Japan, 1960. Courtesy of the family of John E. Mack.

Mack graduated cum laude from Harvard Medical School and, while only a resident, founded one of the nation’s first outpatient hospitals. He took his social-worker bride, Sally, to an Air Force posting in Japan and, once home, introduced psychiatric services to incarcerated youths and impoverished nursery schoolers. He started the first psychiatric department at Cambridge hospital, winning a prize for a study of childhood nightmares, a field he would explore further in his first book, Nightmares and Human Conflict. His second book, a groundbreaking psychological study of Lawrence of Arabia, A Prince of Our Disorder: The Life of T. E. Lawrence, won the Pulitzer Prize for biography in 1977. He traveled in the Middle East, lecturing on the Arab-Israeli conflict and going on “bomb runs,” traveling from city to city warning what would happen if a one-mega-ton bomb exploded overhead, and getting arrested with his family at nuclear-test sites. He cornered Dr. Edward Teller, the father of the H-bomb then pressing President Reagan for a Star Wars nuclear-weapons shield in space. Teller denounced peacenik physicians and told Mack: “If you are not in the pay of the Kremlin, you’re even more of a fool.” After the cold war ended, Mack studied consciousness expansion with Stanislav Grof, a Czech-born psychoanalyst who had experimented with L.S.D. Grof and his wife, Christina, had developed a breathing discipline called Holotropic Breathwork to induce an expanded state of consciousness. In one breathwork session with Russians at California’s Esalen Institute, Mack recounted that he became, “a Russian-father in the 16th century whose four-year-old son was being decapitated by Mongol hordes.’’ He owed a lot to the Grofs, Mack later said. “They put a hole in my psyche, and the U.F.O.’s flew in.”

Mack, at left, performs an autopsy as a student at Harvard Medical School, 1951. Courtesy of the family of John E. Mack.

They flew in with a man named Budd Hopkins.

It was January 10, 1990, Mack recalled, “one of those dates you remember that mark a time when everything in your life changes.” A woman he had met at the Grofs’ introduced him to Hopkins, a nationally known New York Abstract Expressionist and intimate of Willem DeKooning, Jackson Pollock, Mark Rothko, Franz Kline, and Robert Motherwell, whose works hung with his in the permanent collections of the Museum of Modern Art, the Guggenheim, and the Whitney. According to Hopkins, he had spotted a U.F.O. on Cape Cod in 1964, and he went on to investigate the case of a badly shaken neighbor who had reported seeing a spaceship with nine or ten small beings land in a park near Fort Lee, New Jersey. Hopkins wrote a story about it for The Village Voice that was picked up by Cosmopolitan. He was soon being thronged by abductees, whom he examined under hypnosis, and he would win renown as the father of the alien-abduction movement, starting with his book Missing Time, in 1981, and its 1987 sequel, Intruders: The Incredible Visitations at Copley Woods.

Hopkins was then beginning his investigation of the so-called Brooklyn Bridge U.F.O. abduction of the woman he called Linda Cortile, which would become his third book, Witnessed, in 1996. It would involve two security guards for an international figure Hopkins never named but believed to be U.N. secretary-general Javier Pérez de Cuéllar, who, Hopkins would conclude, appeared to have been abducted with her. (I had a local reporter in Lima ask the 92-year-old retired Peruvian diplomat directly about the matter in April 2012. He responded enigmatically, saying, “I’m not interested in those types of curiosities.” Asked if he recalled being questioned by Hopkins, Pérez de Cuéllar, who was in the process of updating his 1997 memoirs, said, “I don’t remember, but it is possible. I can’t assure it nor deny it. My memory at this age fails me.”)

Hopkins gave Mack a box of letters from people reacting to aliens. “I think most of these people are perfectly sane, with real experiences,” Hopkins recalled telling Mack when I visited him in his art-filled Chelsea town house shortly before his death of cancer at 80, in August 2011. But, he added, Mack could decide for himself. He was the doctor.

“Nothing in my nearly 40 years of familiarity with psychiatry prepared me,” Mack later wrote in his 1994 best-seller, Abduction: Human Encounters with Aliens. He had always assumed that anyone claiming to have been abducted by aliens was crazy, along with those who took them seriously. But here were people—students, homemakers, secretaries, writers, businesspeople, computer technicians, musicians, psychologists, a prison guard, an acupuncturist, a social worker, a gas-station attendant—reporting experiences that Mack could not begin to fathom, things, he reflected, that by all notions of reality “simply could not be.”

As he later said, “These individuals reported being taken against their wills sometimes through the walls of their houses, and subjected to elaborate intrusive procedures which appeared to have a reproductive purpose. In a few cases they were actually observed by independent witnesses to be physically absent during the time of the abduction. These people suffered from no obvious psychiatric disorder, except the effects of traumatic experience, and were reporting with powerful emotion what to them were utterly real experiences. Furthermore these experiences were sometimes associated with UFO sightings by friends, family members, or others in the community, including media reporters and journalists, and frequently left physical traces on the individuals’ bodies, such as cuts and small ulcers that would tend to heal rapidly and followed no apparent psychodynamically identifiable pattern as do, for example, religious stigmata. In short, I was dealing with a phenomenon that I felt could not be explained psychiatrically, yet was simply not possible within the framework of the Western scientific worldview.”

With the new millennium, Mack began showing up at Newport, Leslie Hansen remembered. She had been hired to help Mack transcribe recordings of his sessions, and she came to believe in the process that she had buried her own troubling childhood memories of aliens at her bedside. Mack’s household was in turmoil. Sally was unhappy with Mack’s treatment sessions in the house, especially the screams. Mack was also deeply in love with his research associate, Dominique Callimanopulos, the glamorous daughter of the Greek shipping tycoon who owned Hellenic Lines. “John had a lot going on, but he was kind of like a child,” Hansen recalled. “He kind of regarded every person as a fresh slate.” And, she added, “he was very attractive.” Hansen had heard about Cuvelier’s gatherings, and she invited him to attend. Mack was dubious. “What’s this going to cost me?,” he asked. Hansen laughed. “John,” she said, “you’re a guest.”

Two years after meeting Hopkins, Mack was working with dozens of experiencers, and one day he told incredulous fellow psychiatrists at Cambridge Hospital about alien abduction. In 1992 he and David E. Pritchard, a pioneering physicist in atom optics at M.I.T., got that institution to open its doors to a revolutionary alien-abduction conference. Mack presented his findings, as did Hopkins and David M. Jacobs, an associate professor of history at Temple University who was teaching the nation’s only fully accredited college course on U.F.O.’s, and who had just published a provocative book detailing alien encounters, called Secret Life. C. D. B. Bryan, the author of the best-seller Friendly Fire, was among a few select writers invited, for another book, Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind, which Knopf would publish in 1995.

“If what these abductees are saying is happening to them isn’t happening,” Mack demanded, “what is?”

Conferees argued over the validity of a poll done by the Roper Organization for the hotel and aerospace mogul and U.F.O. advocate Robert T. Bigelow that sought for the first time to quantify alien abduction in America. Because few were likely to admit to being an abductee, the pollsters asked the 5,947 respondents if they had ever experienced five key abduction-type symptoms: waking up paralyzed with the sense of a strange presence or person in the room, missing time, feeling a sensation of flying, seeing balls of light in the room, and finding puzzling scars. (A trick question asked if “Trondant” held any secret meaning for them. Anyone who answered yes to the nonsense word was eliminated as unreliable.) Two percent of the respondents, or 119 people, acknowledged at least four of the five experiences, which Roper said translated to 3.7 million adult Americans. At a minimum, Hopkins reported, the results suggested that 560,000 adult Americans might be abductees.

Mack, a year before his death, with Budd Hopkins, the American artist and abduction researcher, at the International U.F.O. Congress Awards in 2003. © Stuart Conway.

The beings didn’t have to come from outer space, Mack theorized, maybe just a parallel universe. But by the time he wrote Abduction, he said his cases had “amply corroborated” the work of Hopkins and Jacobs, “namely that the abduction phenomenon is in some central way involved in a breeding program that results in the creation of alien/human hybrid offspring.” He concluded furthermore that the aliens were carrying warnings about dangers to the planet; almost all of his abductees emerged with “a commitment to changing their relationship to the earth.”

Some respected colleagues, asked to comment on his manuscript, were dismayed. Anyone could espouse alien abduction, but Mack was a renowned Harvard professor. “Can I believe any of this?,” wrote the editor of a psychiatry journal who turned down publication even though all of the peer reviewers urged it. An eminent Harvard ethicist and philosopher responded: “Clearly you cannot easily go ahead with publication so long as you do not have more incontrovertible evidence.” Even Hopkins called Mack “gullible.”

Indeed, Mack soon stepped into a minefield, adding to his circle of abductees a 37-year-old Boston writer who intrigued him with a bizarre tale of being taken into a spaceship with Nikita Khrushchev and President John F. Kennedy during the Cuban missile crisis. Then, saying she was a double agent out to expose Mack’s U.F.O. cult, the woman, Donna Bassett, supplied tapes of her sessions to Time, which ambushed Mack with the hoax, calling him “The Man from Outer Space.” Mack countered that Bassett had a troubled history at his office, but the betrayal stung. The Boston Globe followed up with a gleeful headline: ALIENS LAND AT HARVARD!

Undaunted, Mack appeared on The Oprah Winfrey Show with five of his lucid, articulate, and normal-acting abductees. “He believes them when they say they have been on the aliens’ spaceships,” declared Oprah. “And Dr. Mack believes them, he says, when they say that they have had children with aliens.” Mack put it differently. “Every other culture in history except this one, in the history of the human race, has believed there were other entities, other intelligences in the universe,” he said. “Why are we so goofy about this? Why do we treat people like they’re crazy, humiliate them, if they’re experiencing some other intelligence?”

Harvard had had enough. In June 1994 it convened a confidential inquest under a former editor of The New England Journal of Medicine, Professor Emeritus Arnold Relman. “If these stories are believed as literal factual accounts,” Relman wrote Mack, “they would contradict virtually all of the basic laws of physics, chemistry and biology on which modern science depends.” Some went further, accusing Mack of ushering in a new dark age of superstition and magic.

Mack recruited a potent legal team: Daniel P. Sheehan, of the Christic Institute, who had helped to uncover the Iran-Contra drugs-for-arms deals of the Reagan administration and had represented Karen Silkwood’s family in their successful lawsuit against the Kerr-McGee nuclear power plant, and Roderick “Eric” MacLeish, former general counsel of the Civil Liberties Union of Massachusetts, who was to achieve fame for exposing sexual abuse by Catholic priests in Boston.

Experiencers who had appeared on Oprah with Mack testified for him. Peter Faust, an acupuncturist in his 30s, told of having been recognized on a spaceship by another abductee and of possibly having been an alien himself in a previous lifetime.

And then, as if scripted for dramatic timing, BBC journalist Tim Leach in Zimbabwe called Mack’s office about a flurry of U.F.O. sightings. Mack and his research partner Callimanopulos flew off to investigate a report that on September 14, 1994, a large, saucer-shaped spacecraft and several smaller craft had landed or hovered near a schoolyard in Ruwa, 40 miles northeast of Harare.

The children told Mack and Callimanopulos on tape that the beings had large heads, two holes for nostrils, a slit for a mouth or no mouth at all, and long black hair, and were dressed in dark, single-piece suits. “I think it’s about something that’s going to happen,” said one little girl. “What I thought was maybe the world’s going to end. They were telling us the world’s going to end.”

“How did that get communicated to you?,” Mack asked.

“I don’t even know. It just popped up in my head. He never said anything. He talked just with his eyes. It was just the face and the eyes. They looked horrible.”

By mid-December 1994, with Mack back in Cambridge, the Harvard committee accused him of failing to do systematic evaluations to rule out psychiatric disorders, putting “persistent pressure” on his experiencers to convince them they had actually been abducted by aliens, and preventing them from obtaining the help they really needed. Mack countered with a fervent rebuttal.

As the inquiry hit the press, Harvard Law School professor Alan Dershowitz wrote an op-ed picked up by The Washington Post and The Harvard Crimson: “Will the next professor who is thinking about an unconventional research project be deterred by the prospect of having to hire a lawyer to defend his ideas?”

When the final report came out, Mack was dumbfounded. In a short statement, Harvard Medical School cautioned him “not, in any way, to violate the high standards for the conduct of clinical practice and clinical investigation that have been the hallmarks of this Faculty.” But Harvard “reaffirmed Dr. Mack’s academic freedom to study what he wishes and to state his opinions without impediment. Dr. Mack remains a member in good standing of the Harvard Faculty of Medicine.”

Mack had prevailed, but he realized in retrospect that he had made a fateful error. As he wrote nearly a decade later in a manuscript he was seeking to publish as his masterwork, “When Worldviews Collide”: “I can see now that I had to a large extent created my problem with the literalness that I had treated the encounter phenomenon in the 1994 book. It is possible that in some cases people are taken bodily into spacecraft. However, the question is more subtle and complex.”

Whether space aliens were visiting, what planet they came from, and whether they were friendly to humans seemed increasingly less important than what such spiritual encounters revealed about the cosmos, Mack wrote. The Western materialist worldview was closed to such mysteries. But even without physical proof of the encounters, scientific investigation could proceed through study of the abductees themselves. What was needed, Mack argued, was a new “Science of Human Experience” stressing “the value of the authentic Witness.”

In any case, the aliens’ abduction phase may have ended, Mack and his associates theorized. Had whatever hybrid-breeding program existed been accomplished? What was the next step? The emergence of aliens among us? How would humanity react?

On Cuvelier’s porch in Newport, a staff astronomer at a renowned astrophysics center, in a short-sleeved sport shirt and cargo shorts, explained what he was doing at a gathering of abductees. “I don’t mix the two,” he said. “As a scientist, I would say we don’t have enough data.” So far, he said, “it’s hearsay: somebody says they saw a light, somebody is telling a story what they saw.” But that didn’t mean, the astronomer added, that the stories weren’t interesting. He was joined soon by a towering, bullet-headed friend of Mack’s who had arrived straight from McLean Hospital Southeast, a psychiatric facility affiliated with Harvard Medical School, where he is the medical director. Jeffrey D. Rediger, who also holds a master-of-divinity degree, is no stranger to anomalous experiences. A decade ago in Brazil, where he had gone to study the claims of a mystical healer called John of God, Rediger said, he had witnessed surgeries without instruments and experienced, on his own chest, a sudden episode of spontaneous bleeding from an unexplained incision that quickly healed.

Rudolph Schild, a noted astrophysicist at the Harvard-Smithsonian Center for Astrophysics who had spoken up for Mack at the Harvard inquest, joined the group. I had talked to him several times about one of Mack’s friends and veteran experiencers, a woman named Karin Austin, who, some two decades ago, recalled somehow arriving at a clearing in a forest, where she and other humans had been presented with their “hybrid” children. Schild had interviewed Austin and was struck by her uncanny familiarity with the double suns orbiting one another in the Orion belt. How, he marveled, was she able to give such accurate descriptions of seasonal changes particular to a binary system?

Mack presents the Dalai Lama with a copy of his book Abduction: Human Encounters with Aliens in 1999. By Carl Studna.

With the new millennium, Mack’s interest had shifted to a new mystery, the survival of consciousness, particularly the story of his friends Elisabeth Targ, a psychiatrist with an interest in the paranormal, and her husband, Mark Comings, a theoretical physicist specializing in alternative energy. Targ’s grandfather William, as editor in chief of G. P. Putnam’s, had published The Godfather, and her father, Russell, an inventor of the laser, conducted top-secret extrasensory experiments for the C.I.A. in “remote viewing,” the ability to visualize objects thousands of miles away. Elisabeth’s mother, Joan, was the sister of chess grandmaster Bobby Fischer and had taught her little brother the game of chess. Elisabeth was also a prodigy, with unusual mental powers. As a psychiatrist, she practiced distant healing on AIDS patients, and, later, on patients with rare brain tumors, glioblastomas. Then, in a cruel twist of fate, she contracted the same type of cancer and, despite her practice of the non-traditional prayer therapies she championed, died. She was only 40. But now her husband was telling Mack that she was sending him messages of love from beyond the grave. Mack was writing a book about it, Elisabeth and Mark Before and After Death: The Power of a Field of Love. He sent the proposal off to his literary agent with a note: “There is a bit of urgency about this.” In a few days he would be leaving for London to deliver a lecture on his idol, T. E. Lawrence, killed at 46 in a motorcycle accident in England in 1935.

In Newport with the other experiencers, a Tom Hanks look-alike who wanted to be known as “Scott,” the way Mack referred to him in Abduction, remembered their last meeting at Cuvelier’s villa, in the summer of 2004. Mack was excited about his new book, on the survival of consciousness. Scott confessed his own fear of death. Mack reassured him. “You never know when it will be your time,” he said. “We could all go at any time. I could walk out on the street and get hit by a car.”

Raymond Czechowski, a 50-year-old computer technician, had spent three-and-a-half hours at the Royal British Legion, a military charity in north London, planning the latest poppy drive to aid the troops, in the course of which he downed five or six pints of shandy—beer mixed with lemonade and ice. Then, on that mild, clear Monday night of September 27, 2004, he pointed his silver Peugeot north and started driving home.

Just ahead, shortly after 11 P.M., in the north London suburb of Barnet, John Mack climbed wearily out of the Underground station at Totteridge and Whetstone. His talk had gone well, and many in the audience had brought copies of his Lawrence biography, which they asked him to sign. He had also spoken about the death of his father, Edward Mack, who, 31 years before, almost to the day, had been driving home with the groceries to their summer home in Thetford, Vermont, when his car collided with a truck. In London, Mack was staying with a family friend, Veronica Keen, a widow who told him she had been receiving messages from her deceased husband—more evidence, Mack thought, of survival of consciousness. She had said to call her from the station and she would pick him up, but Mack decided to walk. He crossed a divider and stepped into the busy street. His American instinct was to look to the left.

Czechowski hit the brakes, but too late. Mack’s body flew into the air, shattering the Peugeot’s windshield before traveling over the roof and landing heavily on the ground. “He just stepped there, bang,” Czechowski told the police, who registered his alcohol level at well over the limit.

Mack never regained consciousness. From a crumpled paper with an address on it found in his pocket, the police learned his destination and his identity.

Keen, who sat with Mack’s body at the morgue, said he materialized and told her, “It was as if I was touched with a feather. I did not feel a thing. I was given a choice: should I go or should I stay? I looked down at my broken body and decided to go.”

At Mack’s funeral, many recalled one of his favorite quotes, from Rilke’s Letter to a Young Poet (as translated by Stephen Mitchell): “That is at bottom the only courage that is demanded of us: to have courage for the most strange, the most singular and the most inexplicable that we may encounter. That mankind has in this sense been cowardly has done life endless harm; the experiences that are called ‘visions,’ the whole so-called ‘spirit-world,’ death, all those things that are so closely akin to us, have by daily parrying been so crowded out of life that the senses with which we could have grasped them are atrophied. To say nothing of God.”

Barbara Lamb and other friends also reported visitations.

Roberta Colasanti, one of Mack’s research associates, said he communicated to her a cryptic message on the abductions they had been studying: “It’s not what we thought.” Colasanti waited breathlessly for the solution to the mystery, but it didn’t come. Mack promised to return with more information. So far he hasn’t.

Go ahead tell yourself he was just a crazy conspiracy nut.

[basicvulcanqueen]

The Scientist

warnings: none/cursing

summary: Keanu develops a friendship with a girl and eventually it progresses, but not without some serious shit on the way lol

Chapter One, The Spot

   In a corner of the world often overlooked, there was a park. Commonly named, remotely located in the small town of Dayton, Tennessee, only a small city of locals and some others even knew of its existence. Behind the park was a short, grassy path, overgrown in the summer, making poison ivy a definite if you traveled to the spot in shorts. Walk back far enough, and there is a bridge, train tracks above you, and a creek deep enough to swim in ran as far as the eye could see.

   There was also an overpass, all four lanes of the highway running across on the right side, graffiti plastered all over the bridge and the under passage. Most of it was vulgar, middle school shenanigans, but along the posts of the train tracks, there were several, colorful, interesting paintings. It was sort of like a town treasure, everyone loved to hang out under the tracks, the adrenaline rush as a train rushed overhead, all other noise cancelled out over the roar of the engine, and the shaking beneath you.

   I'd done the paintings my first year in high school, finding the spot after theatre rehearsal one day. My nana rarely let me take the car, but when she did, I made every excuse to stay out. She didn't mind; she trusted me, I stayed out of trouble. I kept my grades and my actions in order, my flaws? Graffiti and cigarettes. I had friends all over the county, willing to buy me smokes as long as I paid for them, so despite Nana's concerns, I had them on hand at all times, never once asking her to buy them for me. That made her feel a little less convicted.

   It had been several years since I'd returned to the spot, now well into my twenties, 22 to be exact; I was driving the same exact car I used to keep out late in my teens, a birthday gift from my Nana and Papa, the nostalgia hitting hard every time I was in the drivers seat. As a grown woman, life had been a struggle. I'd dealt with depression, and bi polar disorder, driving away all of my friends. I spent my time with my mother, staying in the cottage behind her house. I'd stayed there all of my life, the solitude and peace of being at home. Comfortable. The woods surrounded me at night and it was always dark and mysterious, and I loved it. I was buried in the trees, the gushing waters of the creek behind the house comforting my slumber. I loved my small town.

   I came from a family of strange traditions and simple living. We lived modern, sure, with our technology and our video games, but as for our way of life, we were old fashioned. My mother had turned me onto cast iron skillets, and I'd become a little bit of a chef, loving to cook and bake as much as my mama did. As for heat, my mother and stepdad had bought a wood stove for their home, and I'd done the same. We cut our wood, tending to the horses and several outside dogs, as well as indoor pets and a few chickens.

   My brother bred and sold rabbits, making petty cash for silly high school things, basketball and girls being his only worries for the moment. We really were plain, but we were all so different. We all had goals, and aspirations, but we were simple to please, loving the smallest of things. I worked part time in a 24/7 dinner called Pete's Pies and Other Things, reading and exploring in my spare time. I often spent my days in the woods, journal in hand, listening to the sounds of the forest. That was my favorite place to be. I'd just recently gotten a puppy, a Belgian Sheppard named Nero. He was named partly after my Trekkie fandom, partly after the Roman Emperor Nero because I was a history fanatic, driving everyone in my family crazy with my fun facts and my knowledge and opinions, and if I was anything, it was definitely opinionated.

   Relationship after relationship, I was finding myself unsatisfied, lacking connection, and solitude being my safe haven. I couldn't find anyone I could truly connect with, and when I had, they were all significantly older than me. It drove my family nuts, my fascination with older men. I'd been thrown out of school my senior year for dating a teacher in another district. It was bullshit, the teacher kept his job, and I got my GED. I was fine, by myself. I didn't mind it. I never had, I could always occupy my time with something else, reading, writing. I had a world full of adventuring to do.

   I'd found myself chilled by the fall, the autumn air creeping in through the slight crack in my drivers side window. I faithfully ashed my cigarette, my curly black hair thrown in a loose ponytail, Kansas blaring through my speakers. I was in my usual autumn attire, my leggings, black, baggy black cardigan. I'd recently purchased my first belly shirt, white with a tiny alien on the breast pocket, hardly showing any skin, more visible than anything was the hourglass tattoo on my stomach, the left side covered halfway to my hip, the right side occupied by a turtle, beneath it, the entire world on his turtle back, the branches filled with birds and the initials of several loved ones. My body was covered in tattoos, my parents more than encouraging about my body art. I got several compliments on my work, oogled by most pig headed men because how often do you see a mulatto female covered in tattoos? Apparently not very often.

   I drove to clear my mind, no particular place I was heading. I loved to drive, especially with Nero at my side, when the sun was setting. I'd roll up a blunt or two and just drive, making my way to my favorite secluded places, letting Nero out to explore the terrain. He'd go on my hikes with me, and I'd pack the two of us treats and water, that way we could spend all day doing what we loved. He was laying in my backseat; I kept a blanket spread out for him, since his black fur would be everywhere if I didn't. I don't know why I found myself turning into spring city, the road narrowing as I came out by the middle school, just minutes away from the park. As I pulled into the parking lot, the only car I noticed was, undoubtedly, a fucking Porsche, with New York tags, sleek and beautiful, but too fancy for anyone around these parts of town. I gave it no second thought as I grabbed my bag, tossing my lighter and cigarettes, along with my water inside.

   It was a short walk to the trail that led back to The Spot, Nero never leaving my side as we made our way back, the cars passing by on the highway coming to a slow as the traffic from the day died down. The lamps that lit up the park gave great passage as we made our way back, the weeds and ivy mowed down now that it was fall. Nero led the way, sniffing out anything peculiar, perking up when he realized the beauty ahead of us. He quickened his pace, leaving me before I turned the corner of the wall/post that my balloon painting was on, not even noticing Nero standing near the rocks by the post, lapping at the crystal clear water. He went on to explore the surroundings, keeping close, as I took a seat, digging in my bag for my metal Star Trek tin, removing a blunt and lighting it, feeling finally at ease after a long day of work and nonsense. I'd made decent enough tips, more than any of the other servers, and I had the next two days off work, which I was thrilled about. I was going into relax mode, knowing after I returned home, I could start a fire, make some coffee, and read until the wee hours of the night, accompanied by Nero and the peaceful repetition of nightly crickets. Nero had gone out of view, but I could hear him, playfully prancing around the area. I don't know how I didn't hear the human footsteps approach, but Nero did. He bolted around the corner, sniffing out whoever it was, and I stopped in my tracks, quickly dubbing out my smoke and putting the unfinished blunt into the tin, replacing it with a lit cigarette. Nero wasn't alarmed for long, I quickly heard whoever it was tell Nero, "Aren't you a good boy? Where's your owner, pal?" And I quickly stood up, Nero returning to my side just before the man rounded the corner, and much to my surprise, I was greeted by the face of a celebrity. I almost thought I was seeing things, but sure enough I recognized the jet black hair, and the deep, penetrating brown eyes on the gorgeous face of none other than, Keanu Reeves.

   I took a step back, Nero nudging at my hand to pet him, forcing myself not to stare as he smiled at me, his face perfectly visible in the lamplight. He spoke up first, taking a step towards me and reaching out his hand. "Beautiful dog you have there, I'm Keanu, didn't mean to sneak up on you like that." He laughed it off smoothly, and I shook his hand, surprised at his friendly, welcoming demeanor. "Thank you, he goes everywhere with me. I'm Raven. And this is Nero." Nero sat at his feet, letting Keanu pet him, happily accepting the affection. I was a mess in my head, unaware of how to react, really. I had never encountered anyone famous in my life. Lowly stage actors, and film extras, once or twice, but never anyone as famous as him. What the hell was he doing here? In the middle of nowhere? As if he was reading my mind, he asked me if I was from the area, and I nodded, saying I'd lived here all my life, however my house was 20 minutes away on the other side of the county. "What brings you here?" I asked politely, resuming my seat, and he joined me, Nero laying between the two of us.

"I dunno, really. I wanted to get out of the city. My mom knew a photographer here, and I saw a picture online of the area, and I just... wanted to see it for myself. I've never been here. I wanted to work up some inspiration for a project I'm working on, and I figured this would be the place to start. I'm staying at a place called The Holiday Inn, it's in Dayton." I nodded, chuckling at the coincidence. Pete's was directly in front of The Holiday Inn, I was there almost everyday. "I work in Dayton. At the diner right in front of your hotel." He smiled, saying he was planning on making a stop there tomorrow for breakfast. I mentioned I was off work, and he sighed dramatically, causing us both to erupt into laughter. We talked for the better half of two hours, well into the sun going down, before we made our way back to the parking lot, Nero leading ahead of us, the night air cook around us. He looked relatively normal to be so gorgeous, in his long black coat, and his dark jeans, his grey boots and white shirt reminding me all too much of the many part he had portrayed in his career. It was like, for so long of seeking adventure, I'd met someone who had a life full of journeys and discoveries. It was odd, how well we hit it off, being from two totally different worlds. I lit up a cigarette, offering him one, and he accepted, using my lighter. He offered me his cell phone, saying he would like to keep in touch, and so we exchanged numbers, parting ways with a casual hug. He asked me to text him when I got home, so he knew I made it there okay. I said I would. I waved before getting in my car, my music starting up as I fished for my tin in my bag, Nero taking a seat up front as I lit my blunt, driving into the night, the 20 minute drive home exciting as I drove with Keanu in my taillights. He followed behind me until he had to turn off for his hotel, honking his horn, and I did the same. I couldn't wait to get home and tell my mom about the day I'd had.

   I had managed to sneak some proof, a quick picture of Nero standing next to Keanu, his hand placed lovingly on his head, a grin on his face. My mom was going to be so shocked. I was excited to return home, but disappointed to see all of the lights off at my mother's place, so I drove past, onto the gravel driveway that would be paved eventually, leading to my cottage. The space opened up, the creek running behind my house, through an orchard. My cottage was three bedrooms, flowers and plants of all sorts growing wildly around the house, my stepdad always joking that my house looked like something sort of like a fairy tale. I'd always kept up my garden well maintained through the year, but it was getting colder now, and all I had left were a few buds here and there, along with my weeping willow that took refuge in my front yard, always casting the most ominous shadow on my house. Nero and I made our way inside, my first objective to start a fire in the woodstove. I grabbed my lighter from my bag, shooting Keanu a text that I'd made it home ok, and sat my phone down, determined to get my fire started before I replied. The house was quiet, so I turned on my stereo, a treasure I'd found at 20 in a yard sale, the hits of the 80's,90's and today playing softly throughout the house and I piled wood atop my ever growing fire, and I took a minute to have a seat in front of it, having a cigarette as I watching the crackling flames. My phone vibrated on the table in the living room, and I retrieved it, a message from Keanu.

   K: Glad you made it home safe. What are your plans for the night?

   R: Just started a fire, I'm going to make some coffee, curl up with Nero and read. Anything exciting on your end?

   K: Not a thing, sounds like a fun night. Started a fire?

   I sent him a picture of my woodstove, and he sent me a text back shortly, amazed at the fact that I lived alone and used wood heat. He said he'd never met anyone who relies on it for a source of heat, which is always weird to me. It's always been my favorite form of heat. It's cozy, reliable, and if my power ever goes out, at least I'll be warm. Plus, cooking on a woodstove is ideal. The quality of the food is incredible.

   K: You'll have to show me sometime. If you're up a little later, care if I give you a call?

   R: I'll be up for a while, that's perfectly fine with me.

   K: Alright, I've got a conference call with a realtor in 15 mins but after that, I'll call you. :)

   R: Looking forward to it!

   I took the time to change clothes, the room next to mine serving as a storage room for nothing but my clothes, considering I had so many. I was devoted to thrift shops, finding 50 cent and dollar treasures everywhere I went, a collection of clothes, shoes, books, and all sorts of handy items, mine for a low price. I'd fallen in love with the beauty and the history of the things in thrift shops, some of my favorite Star Trek memorabilia purchased at several different thrift shops. I had Star Trek sheets, posters, paintings, figurines, and even a landline phone. I'd purchased lots of strange knick knacks over the years, including a Japanese tea set, several Buddha figurines, some handmade windchimes made of spoons, some very cool, wooden end tables, 5 of them to be exact, all under ten dollars from thrift stores.

   My mom and I had a crazy huge library of movies, dvds and vhs tapes, and we added onto it every other Tuesday when I got paid. We were all about home entertainment, being content with our lives. And we were. Simple, loving folk. We enjoyed our things, and spending time with each other. We did that more than anything. My mom and I had a rocky start growing up, but now, we have become best friends, the two of us enjoying the silly little hobbies we had. My stepdad went through a phase where we stockpiled can goods and nonperishable items, because of the economy, and now, we've done it ever since. We have an entire storage room in my basement dedicated to all things survival. A year's supply of canned goods, 10 adult survival blankets. Cases of water stacked to the ceiling, from years of preparation. We'd always taken advantage of our resources, so when we saw 4 folding cots at a yard sale, we bought them, and slowly over time, had bought up enough for all of us, taking measures to preserve the lives of our animals as well, stocking dog food and jugs of water for them. It seemed crazy, but the way we saw it, you could never be too prepared. We stocked up on toiletries and medicines, cabinets full of first aid equipment, antibiotics, mild pain relievers and Tylenol, of course, along with several other over the counter medications, both human and pet friendly, we were set there too.

  My stepdad, John, had kept in mind when building both their house, and my cottage, the need for shelters, especially underground. The land our house was built on had belonged to my family for generations, several houses being on the same exact land before it. Although none of the original houses remained, one cool feature was able to be used in the construction of our homes. A bomb shelter, ten foot underground, connecting the space between our houses. An enclosed area roughly the size of a tennis court, it had 5 separate living quarters, big enough for two cots and a wardrobe on wheels. There were solar panels connected to the kitchen in the shelter, so we would be able to cook and still have power for hours out of the day, along with a plethora of generators from junk yard trips and trades. He was the smartest man I knew, and he had taught us everything he knew.

I was killing time, waiting for coffee to finish brewing when I received a facetime request from Keanu, throwing the lights on in the kitchen nook and accepting, greeted by his face, smiling at me from his hotel room.

"So that's what your house looks like," he said, giggling at my table for two and all of my memorabilia. "I have so much crap. I'll give you a tour if you want. There's so much house I feel like I'm useless. I don't even take up half of it." He laughed, sitting up as I showed him my closet room, turning the light on to the basement staircase and descending it. "Woah, where are you now?" He asked, and I switched the view so he could see the space in front of me. There was the stockpile room, off to my left, and to the right, the hall that led to the bomb shelter, and that definitely struck his attention. "That's probably the coolest thing ever," he said, wowed at the time we had put into everything. I promised to show him one day, but I definitely didn't feel like walking all over the basement in the dark. I made my way back upstairs, listening to Keanu talk about the penthouse he just purchased in New York. He was planning on taking a vacation there next, he said. He was tired of California. He wanted to see what the bustling world of NYC had to offer. I told him that would be amazing, I'd always dreamed of going there in high school, being on the stage, taking the subway to work. But I told him, I never planned on leaving my little town. That seemed to disappoint him, but he quickly recovered when he asked me if I had plans for the next few days. I told him that I was off work 2 days straight, and he asked if I'd like to take him hiking the following day. He wanted Nero to come, and I quickly accepted. I told him I knew a great place, that I'd take my camera because the leaves would be changing and it would be a real sight. He agreed, and kept talking about how excited he was. I was excited too.

   We made plans to meet for breakfast, when he asked where, I offered jokingly to cook, and he encouraged it, so I said I would text him my address, and he was going to come to my house for breakfast the next morning. I cooked on Saturdays, my mom and stepdad would be joining, along with both of my brothers. He said that was perfect, that it had been a long time since he had a nice, normal breakfast. I assured him we were not normal, but told him I was thrilled to spend the day with him. He yawned loudly two hours into our facetime, and I immediately did the same, saying we would both need our rest for the next day. I quickly sent him a text with my address as I stoked the fire, putting more wood on it for the night, crawling into my own bed for the night before hanging up the phone. Nero climbed into bed, settling himself in next to me as I set my alarm for the next morning, peacefully drifting into sleep after the best day I'd had in a very long time.

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(Continue from Part 1)We are now in Part 2, and Nichols takes over the writing. A guy named Stan Campbell claims that he “programmed” the Montauk Boys. You remember them, right? They were the kids who were kidnapped due to their Aryan bodies and sent hurtling through time. Now, that was pretty dumb, but can it get any dumber?“Back in the early 1970's, the Montauk group became interested in programming children. According to legend, gray aliens picked up about fifty kids and delivered them to Montauk. They would then be programmed and separated into three groups: ages 6-12, 13-16, and 16-22.”Yes.Yes it can. So we’re dealing with, what, three alien races now?The first group was split into two subgroups if they survived the “processing”; one was given to the “grays”, and the other was “programmed” and placed back in their families. Supposedly, they were programmed to be sleeper agents for the government to activate at any time with a hypnotic command “so that they band together into vigilante squads and go after government enemies” and is this really where The Division came from? Seriously?The second two groups were also meant to infiltrate society, and were also split into two subgroups. One was meant to serve as mindless assassins to murder a specific target, and the other was meant to form satanic cults that would accomplish… something. I don’t know, it doesn’t really seem like the Church of Satan is doing so well, nowadays.So apparently this had been going on for some time at good old Brookhaven National Labs. Apparently the aliens were also harvesting the boys’ fear somehow. Alas, even Nazi-run plans to create prepubescent Manchurian Candidates in association with gray aliens fall victim to affirmative action, as some darker haired and even (gasp!) darker-skinned boys were also included. So I guess we shouldn’t rule this out as a possible Stranger Things plot point!Oh, who am I kidding, of course we should.The book then goes into excruciating detail about how the “reprogramming” process went, and I will not be retyping it here because it��s horrible. My apologies to all the S&M pedophiles and Business Insider writers reading this.Chapter 10 discusses the guy who spilled all of this; “Stan Campbell”, which is a fake name meant to protect his identity. Nichols met him at a 1991 lecture by Elaine Donald, a civil rights advocate speaking on behalf of- nah, I’m just kidding, she’s another damn psychic. Anyway, Nichols offers to drive Campbell home. Campbell accepts, and reveals the following;“…he let loose, describing problems as an abductee, problems with the Government and consequent legal difficulties. He had been accused of embezzlement but didn't remember doing it. Although here called opening bank accounts and getting money from somewhere, he wasn't sure exactly what he'd done.”I think I might have an idea as to what “Campbell’s” true identity is.So Campbell had another conversation with Nichols later, revealing even more information. Nichols deduced that he had been “violated” and describes him thusly;“He was paranoid, his mind was weak and he virtually had no will of his own.”This only reinforces my hypothesis.Under hypnosis, Campbell reveals that he was abducted by government agents riding in UFOs. Then came this bizarre series of events;“Eventually, Stan started to remember activity with the CIA. In the early 1980's, he had received a phone call at 3:00 A.M. with someone requesting that he apply for work at the CIA. He was told to report to a specific place and fill out application forms. Subsequently, he was requested to go to the New York Institute of Technology and take a test. He was contacted again and told that he did extremely well on the test. Then, he was told to report to a particular hotel (I recall it being The New Yorker) under an assumed name and that there would be a room waiting for him. He gave a false name, was given a key and went in and waited. Stan said the room was suspicious because it was next to a utility closet and there was a mirror on the wall next to the closet. He was fairly sure that there were cameras and surveillance equipment behind the mirror. After a while, the phone rang and a lady came up and gave him a battery of psychological tests. He returned home and was eventually contacted again. He was told that he'd done very well on the tests and that he had to report to the final testing section. This unit was in Virginia in a town I remember being called Crabwell Corners. There, he went to a Holiday Inn. He was sure it wasn't open to the public because it always had "no vacancy" signs yet there were any never people in it. Each room had car keys and other things that went along with it. Stan was given another fictitious name and told to go to a room on the second floor and wait. A number of people came in and did more tests. During the tests, he was sent from one room to another. The whole experience was very strange and he didn't remember half of it. The "testing" was odd, to say the least. He remembered waking up stark naked with his rear end up in the air. A lot of times different parts of his body would hurt. Three out of the four days he was there, his anal opening hurt. This was about all he remembered. He was eventually told that the testing was complete and that he should go home and wait for further instructions.”Ah, the days before Internet applications.So after getting shoved into the trunk of a limo and then being electrically shocked in the navel while an alien watched at an old castle (seriously), Campbell recalled that he had been diverting funds to the “carry on” of the Montauk Project in the Alsace-Lorraine Mountains in Europe.Chapter 11 is called “The Devil’s Chapter”. Nichols brings Campbell to Cameron and discovers that he’s under the influence of several aliens. Somehow, Cameron managed to break the aliens’ influence over Campbell, who proceeds to recognize Cameron. Apparently he was one of the directors at Montauk, having had “some psychic resonance” with Cameron and he was in charge of breaking and reprogramming the kids. So I guess this guy is the equivalent to Martin Brenner (you might want to go back and read his whole recruitment process again with that in mind; it’s kind of hilarious). He even describes how he shoved some of the boys into a small, dark “five sided” room deep underground. He also used cages made of chicken wire.So after describing some body horror involving the kids and being electroshocked, Campbell describes… this;“The next thing he saw was a rectangular opening appearing above the table where they had done the programming. He was sucked right up into the rectangular opening and found himself dressed in early Jewish robes about the time of Christ.”No…They’re not…“The next thing Stan knows, he's in the time of Christ. His mission, as he remembers it, is to go find Jesus and do two things.”You’ve got to be kidding me…“First, he's supposed to remove a sample of blood and then he's supposed to kill Him.”………………………………………………………………………………………………………….Well, I was wrong. Against all odds, these two managed to top themselves.We’re not even halfway done, by the way.“He finds Christ and Christ greets him in a most surprising fashion. He said that He knows what Stan is there for and He even volunteers to give him the sample of blood. But, Christ indicates that He is not ready to die yet. He tells Stan that he will not be able to kill Him. Operating on his orders from Montauk, Stan then reports emptying a revolver into Christ without phasing Him.”“The whole experience might have lasted for ten hours in terms of Montauk time but Stan felt that he had been in the time of Christ for about two months. We believe that Stan may have somehow become Judas or walked into his body. Somehow, it seemed that he assumed the identity of Judas, betrayed Christ and arranged for His death as reported in the Bible. Again, this was all on order from Montauk.”…..Do I really need to comment on this? I think it speaks for itself.“None of this is terribly clear. It is also highly controversial from a religious point of view.”NO SHIT.“Stan reported that he brought a vial of blood from Christ back to Montauk. He didn't want to give it up and continued to hold on to it. Then, he felt a burning and the blood "went through him" like an exorcism. He was subsequently sent through a portal to Mars and told to hand over the blood to Christ who he would find on Mars. Stan then emerged out of the underground on Mars and saw a mountain range. Near a mesa, in the corner of a group of rocks, stood a tall thin figure who looked like Christ in robes. He walked over and nervously extended the blood to the robed figure. As the figure accepted the blood, he looked up and Stan now saw the face of Duncan Cameron, masquerading as Christ. Duncan stood there frozen for a number of minutes and Stan took off. The time context of this is not known but we guess that it is late July of 1983 because of some incidents that Duncan has additionally reported on.”No, dear reader, you are not hallucinating. I would like to remind you that many people treat these books as indisputable, hard truth. I would also like to remind you once again that Duncan Cameron was the guy that Eleven was based off of. Please keep that in mind while you read this;“Stan then went back to the Martian underground, popped into the vortex and returned to Montauk. There, he was told that they wanted the blood because it could be mixed into Duncan's bloodstream in such a manner that Duncan would have the same DNA blood coding as that which is on the Shroud of Turin. This could then be used as an argument (quite falsely) that Duncan is the second coming of Christ. Whether the exact details of the incident are accurate, this aspect of the story rings true because Duncan's training (in his current body, born in 1951) had groomed him all along to be the Antichrist… According to what we've been able to put together, Duncan had been trained to be the Antichrist.”Wow.Just… wow.“What apparently happened during this ridiculous and perhaps unprecedented manipulation of time is that the powers at Montauk were trying to usurp the very power of God. Christ, as the representative of God, got the last laugh. His blood was wanted for diabolic purposes, but He reversed the entire process. The blood ended up having a cleansing effect on Duncan and changed his entire personality. Before that incident, Duncan was conceited and arrogant. Afterwards, he became quite a nice person. His first order of business was to meet with a cabal of people at Montauk who would sabotage the project. An arrangement was made to release Junior and the Montauk Project became inoperable. Although it is still active in some form today, the Montauk operatives are not believed to have anywhere near the capability they had in1983… The important point is that it indicates the Christ consciousness prevailed and saved us all from possible manipulation by the Montauk Project. Mankind can be saved from devastation and there are higher forces at work that we can align ourselves with.”So a cabal of time-traveling-weather-controlling-mind-controlling-teleportation Neo-Nazis using the power of the Force with the assistance of three alien races were personally defeated by Jesus Christ Himself and the Demogorgon’s inbred cousin from the Pacific Northwest.This. Fucking. Book.……………………………………………………………………………………….Moving on…Oh yeah, there’s more. Only in the world of Peter Moon and Preston B. Nichols is an appearance by our Lord and Savior not the climax.So after that, Campbell was accused of embezzlement by the “Charles Food Company”, which Nichols claimed is a Mob-run organization that assisted the Montauk Project by grabbing kids off the street. They got involved with Campbell because after Jesus kicked the Project’s ass there was still a whole bunch of kids left over. The government kindly set up a trust fund for them, but it ran out of money (this is the most realistic part of the book). So they assigned Campbell to manage it. The Company would put the money in his account while he managed it, but he utter messed it up so the Company ended up suing him for embezzlement in 1988 for $400,000 ($4,616,000 in today’s money). Over the course of legal proceedings, Campbell was being stalked and harassed by government agents, which lead to Nichols delivering this bit of helpful advice;“At this point, I began to threaten over the phone (which I know to be tapped) that if Stan was locked up, I would go and prove the Montauk Project as much as I could and also go public on my involvement in the Moriches Bay UFO crash (I helped to shoot it down when I worked for BJM by jamming its drive with the appropriate frequencies — a whole other story).”Nichols… you broke me. You don’t have to keep coming up with means to test my sanity.So after a whole bunch of legal drama, Campbell was sentenced to thirty-three months in federal prison. In order to prevent him from being brainwashed while in prison by making several public appearances and by having a psychic safeguard his mind.In Chapter 13, Peter Moon approaches Elaine Donald, the psychic who introduced Campbell to Nichols.“Elaine said that all the things that Stan came up with were under the influence of the drug Prozac and that he wanted nothing to do with Montauk… It was all pure hallucination and/or delusion.”Oh my God, a voice of sanity! There’s still hope!This hope is immediately crushed when it is revealed that Campbell was brainwashed in prison. Sigh easy come, easy go.Chapter 14 is all about Alien Treaties.Are you really surprised by this point?“The first treaty between aliens and the U.S. Government was supposedly signed in 1913. I don't have any information on it other than it involved World War 1.”I’d love to hear your opinions in the comments as to what exactly this treaty could have entailed.“The second treaty was signed somewhere around 1945 to 1947. This was supposed to be an alien technology exchange of some kind. Rumor indicated this exchange was with aliens that referred to themselves as the ‘K Group’… The K Group had been alarmed by the dropping of the atom bomb and wanted the world to disarm from nuclear weapons. They apparently feared what mankind might do. There was an agreement that nuclear devices would be abandoned in return for other technology. Of course, this treaty was not adhered to by the humans and the K Group totally abandoned us.”Well, Klaatu, barada, nikto, K Group.“The third treaty happened when the Regelian grays came and contacted the Government. These grays said they could help us, but they wanted us to help them as well. They desired certain technology. According to what I'm told, this treaty was agreed upon sometime between 1951 and 1954. We are currently under this treaty although the grays have violated it from time to time.”Why am I not surprised.Chapters 15-18 just describe how humans received transistors courtesy of the Orions and K Group. There isn’t much of interest here, other than the Roswell crashed UFO (got to work that in!) carrying human body parts and President Truman haggling with aliens.We have reached Part 3, and Peter Moon takes over once again. Chapter 19 is literally about Moon and Nichols arguing over the movie rights to the book. Again, there’s not much of interest except for whatever reason, Moon immediately assumes that the studio executive he negotiates with is an alien.In Chapter 20, Nichols receives a bunch of transistors containing original alien tech from “Orion Diversified”. Moon then meets a doctor referred to as “Dr. O” who allegedly came up with a way to treat AIDs, but is being suppressed by The Man because…. I have no fucking idea.Moon then gives this interesting piece of information;“And for those who do not know, anyone in the New York area who deals in the carting industry had better be approved or sanctioned by the mob. If you don' t believe me, try opening up a competitive business and see what happens.”We’re almost in the home stretch and I am way too tired to research this, so I’ll just take Moon’s word for it and assume that the garbage men are all mobsters from now on.Moon then describes how Nichols was approached by a government agent who offered him another job because apparently the government is still trying to time-travel. Nichols declined. In response, Dr. O implies that he was a part of the Project as well, and reveals that he has figured out a way to reverse aging. Moon leaves us with this quote;“Immortality and time travel might be fun, but they also require a lot of hard work.”Couldn’t have said it better.Chapters 21-23 are just about Moon and Nichols traveling around and talking to people. They first met von Neumann, who was the guy who sold Nichols the receiver at the end of the first book. He only gives a few cryptic statements. Then, the duo visit Klark, the guy who introduced Nichols to von Neumann. Klark is apparently holding pieces for Nichols to build a time machine with. He also wants to aid in the next book, and then use the profits from it to build a time machine. Well, you better use the money I gave you for these books well, Klark. They then visit a woman named Helga Morrow, whose father worked at Montauk. His job was to train psychics to communicate with astronauts and figure out a way to integrate aliens into human society. Oh, and when Helga was born, this happened;“During the gestation process, her mother's gynecologist, a noted spiritualist by the name of Dr. Haase, inserted a mysterious metallic rod into the womb in order to enhance the I.Q. and psychic ability of Helga. She was a government experiment! To this day, you can see what appears to be an antenna structure in X-ray pictures of her head. This is part of what makes her an acute sensitive and psychic.”I’m debating whether “taking copious amounts of LSD in isolation tanks while pregnant” or “jamming a metal rod in a fetus’s head” is a dumber explanation for psychic abilities. Regardless, her father had disappeared shortly after being involved with Montauk and she has been looking for him since.Chapter 24 deals with a woman who claimed that her father was involved with the Philadelphia Experiment. This woman was one of a set of triplets, and is referred to as “Baby A”, and her sisters are referred to as “Baby B” and “Baby C”. Apparently, their father was the one manning the controls for the experiment at Norfolk. Oh, and Babies A and C were created from alien DNA. Because of this, they are psychic.Well, I think this explanation may take the gold.Oh, and apparently mind-control experiments were being done in Sembach, Germany as well.Chapter 25 is about the filming of the documentary. While doing this, our heroes find out that Montauk was covering up the disappearances of the kidnapped kids because “Montauk is a tourist town and shocking news does not make for more people and good business.”I beg to differ.When the camera crew arrived at Camp Hero, there was a mysterious hole in the side of the transmitter building. They enter and describe the interior;“Perhaps the biggest find during this period was a house next to the officers' lounge. The upstairs contained the oddest "military" decor you've ever seen. One room was loud paisley, another tiger striped, and one was painted like confetti. There was a fourth room that was painted black and white in the strangest pattern arrangement. I first speculated that it might have been a base whorehouse.”Well that’s nice. So after a hard day of time-traveling and torturing children, base personnel had a means to unwind. I wonder if they let the aliens use it too.So after attempting to record some “hues” coming from the base, the filming wrapped up, and you can watch the whole thing in all of its early 90’s VHS glory here. However…”Before the documentary shooting began, Duncan's readings said it must all be completed before the 18th of January (1993) or there would be danger. His information was very specific. Further readings indicated that four aliens from the Andromedan galaxy had entered the underground base and caused some sort of etheric distortion in the electromagnetic field over Montauk. They apparently caused an explosion in the entire underground and caused untold damage to the current Montauk operation. The Andromedans are believed to be benevolent and were willing to sacrifice their lives to sabotage the Montauk underground.”I am so happy that I have long ceased to care about pointing out how absurd this. So Nichols went back to the base to get some more footage and got accosted by a couple of state troopers. Nichols actually managed to win a lawsuit (which I can’t seem to find any record of) against them. Security was now significantly tightened at the base.Chapter 26 is where we learn that the Montauk Manor is haunted by ghosts (yes, ghosts), because it was built on top of a Native American burial ground. Well, nice to know that Moon is a Kubrick fan. Oh, and also a “coven of witches” meets on the base grounds to perform rituals. And there’s apparently “many” covens on Long Island. I never saw any sign of witches anywhere, but fine.Chapter 27 begins with a discussion of a man named Kenn Arthur who Moon met at a Psychotronics meeting;“Kenn was extremely cynical about Preston's story and would sometimes makeup the most hysterical jokes about it. However, he would be the first to admit that he is obsessed with pessimism about anything. As time went by, I would make little discoveries that indicated that a project really did exist. He'd laugh it off in one way or another.”Hey, I think I found my “past incarnation”!“As time went by, the main thrust of his communication was that Preston's story was an elaborate hallucination.”Yeah, tell these lunatics off, Kenn! I’m beginning to like this guy!“He said that the true story is far more bizarre than anything Preston could possibly put together.”God damn it.So, Arthur explains the “true” story behind where the Nazi gold came from (if you forgot about that, I don’t blame you). It did not come from a seized train in France, but instead;"In 1945, the Nazis, convinced the Third Reich was about to fall, sent a U-boat to Montauk containing riches seized during the invasion of France with instructions to bury them underground inside twelve metal shell casings. The German sailors followed orders and buried the treasure at Camp Hero with a large rock nearby to be used as a landmark. After the war, the money and jewels were to be used for bribes, false passports and safe passage to the United States and South America for high officers of the Reich."Oh yeah, that’s much more plausible.So apparently the Germans handed off the money to the government in exchange for immunity and “many ended up owning barber shops on Myrtle Avenue in Ridgewood, Queens.”Sure, fine, whatever. I’ll assume that all the barbers in Queens are Nazis from now on.Chapter 28 starts off by claiming that there is a series of catacombs under Montauk, with entrances under the Montauk Manor, Camp Hero, and of course, Mark Hamill’s house. Apparently they were funded by the German Kaiser in the early 1900s to reach “Inner Earth”. They also connected to another mansion that served as a boys’ military academy that was shut down for several health and safety violations. Moon concludes that this academy was a cover for the kidnapped boys from the Project.Chapter 29 deals with a woman referred to as “Madam X”. She explains that there are 12 different “mystery schools” monitoring Cameron. What’s a mystery school?“Also known as secret societies, these are organized groups that have been around since time immemorial. Their names sometimes change with the winds of politics but throughout history there have been many branches. The Illuminati, Knights Templars, Masons and Rosicrucians are just a few samples of organizations that have been identified as mystery schools. While the aforesaid are well known throughout history and are at time considered notorious, there are others that work more secretly in an effort to balance what the others have done.”Well, I guess The Secret World can be seen as a documentary, then.“The Order of Melchizedek, the Magi and the Order of the Seven Rays would all fit into the latter category. I don't know the full organizational charts and interrelationship of all the groups. That is a job for conspiracy theorists.”Oh look, Moon is trying to distance himself from conspiracy theorists. Cute.“Since the beginning, the twelve major mystery schools have been concerned with the balance of good and evil or light and dark. It is in this realm with which we can identify the Antichrist. The Antichrist is important because it is the focal point of what Montauk is about.”Yep. The “focal point” of the infamous Montauk Project, the thing that our beloved show was based off of, was summoning the Antichrist.Moon… Nichols… whoever’s writing this… what’s going on up there?I mean… no sane person can come up with this. I’m genuinely kind of concerned for their mental well-being. The rest of the chapter is basically just an explanation of Crowley’s theories that the “Christ” and “Antichrist” must be kept in balance.Chapter 30 is about Jack Parson’s magical experiments with his pal L. Ron Hubbard in 1946, in which he performed the “Babalon Working” ritual.“It involved creating a Moonchild which was the raising of the Antichrist as was explained in the last chapter. Parsons also viewed this experiment as reversing the stagnant and unbalanced patriarchal power structure of the Piscean era. He was also a big fan of womankind and in this work he sought to bring out the Goddess energy that had been repressed for millennia.”And what is a “Moonchild”?“There are differing views. Cameron explained to me that she's uncomfortable with the word. She said that every time one has sex, a thought form is created. This is sometimes called a Moonchild. The thought form will go out and do the bidding of the magicians involved (sex partners).”All the more reason to use condoms, then.So how did the actual ritual go?“Parsons and Cameron gave their sexual energy with Hubbard overseeing the operation and using his astral vision. It was an exhaustive operation which was designed to open an interdimensional door for the manifestation of the goddess Babalon (which means understanding), the Mother of the Universe. She would appear inhuman form, and many to this day consider that Cameron is indeed the incarnation of Babalon.”And what did this accomplish?“According to the accounts of many others, Parson (along with Hubbard and Cameron) succeeded in creating a rift in space-time (not unlike the Philadelphia Experiment). A doorway to "the other side" or another dimension was created. It was after this operation that UFO sightings began to be reported en masse. The famous Roswell crash occurred in 1947, prior to the death of Aleister Crowley. Whatever happened during the Babalon Working, there is extremely wide acceptance in both magical and scientific circles that something of an extremely profound nature occurred that had an extreme interdimensional effect. Besides the massive UFO sightings that followed, there was also the National Security Act and the formation of the CIA.”In case you ever wondered how the Central Intelligence Agency was formed, there’s your answer; it involved magical sex-spirits. Also I thought Cameron kicked off the UFO wave when he shut the defense system off on Mars in the last book. I really don’t want to know what it says about me that I’m paying more attention to the continuity of these books than the authors.“It is also noteworthy to point out that, according to Cameron, both Parsons and Hubbard were never the same after the experiment. Both would have many struggles and Parsons would be officially assassinated six years later. Ironically, the Capitol building in Washington. D.C. was stormed by UFOs within a very short time after Parsons died.”We’re almost done folks, just hang in there a little longer.So essentially the Babalon Working is a way to achieve CHIM and obtain the power of God. I’m sure this gives the guys over at r/teslore boners, but what the hell does this have to with Montauk?Well, Chapter 31 reveals the Jack Parsons was the guy who ran the entire Montauk Project. Maybe. Or maybe the Montauk Project was just a synchronicity with Parson’s work. It’s not really clear. Also, “JPL” actually stands for “Jack Parsons Laboratory” rather than “Jet Propulsion Laboratory” (that’s an ego trip if I ever saw one). And L. Ron Hubbard was a wizard.Moving on.In Chapter 32, Moon learns that Parsons and Hubbard were censored by Crowley due to their interest in Chaos Theory. Yes, Chaos Theory, the thing Jeff Goldblum refused to shut up about in Jurassic Park.By this point if a T-Rex suddenly appeared in this book and murdered everyone, I would not even bat an eyelash.So apparently in 1943 Crowley did a ritual in England that caused a “line of rough water” to appear and point toward Long Island. And he also used magick to aid Rudolf Hess’s attempted peace mission. And he created the Loch Ness Monster. And he was looking for a powerful magical item called “The Book of Desolation”. Also, interestingly enough, he discusses the Upside-Down;“Amado explained to me that most people misconstrue spanning the distance to mean going from the physical plane to the astral plane. This is not correct. The world we live in is here and now, like Zen masters teach. This is our "reality" in which we exist. But the world "there" is a different reality into which we may wander on occasions. Spanning the distance means to go from "here" to "there". Between the two worlds is a transformational state.”Or least I think it is. Look, I’m just trying to justify the colossal amount of time I spent writing this by actually connecting it to the damn show somehow.Chapter 33 is where Moon explains something that I’m sure has been scientifically proven; sterility in twins indicates a virgin birth.What, you didn’t know that? Come on, it’s common knowledge!“A virgin birth refers to interdimensional mating and results in what is called a Moonchild or Sexchild. This is also a sterile birth, and the sterility results from the interdimensional mating.”“On a physical level, a virgin (or even any other woman) can be impregnated and not know how. This is the result of a latent male protein from the father that resides in all females but cannot be found unless it is triggered. It is in fact an acid that acts just like a sperm and penetrates the zona pellucida, a protective body which contains a sack. The zona pellucida is very hard to penetrate. If it wasn't, any old sperm or perhaps anything else (like animal sperm) could come in and be a candidate for gestation.”“Normal pregnancy occurs when the native (or psychic) intelligence in the cell receives a message that a sperm is out there waiting to enter. If the proper biological conditions are present, the sperm is permitted access. In the case of a virgin birth, the protein is activated to act like a sperm and "fools" the zona pellucida into thinking it's a sperm. A child is eventually born with the gestation period usually lasting ten months.”“The protein referred to above is located in the body's original cells which are eight in number and located at the base of the spine. This is the root of "kundalini" and is the first physical base of life where spirit first united with matter. These eight cells are juxtaposed in a geometrical fashion that consists of two pyramids. Four cells make up a pyramid or tetrahedron. The other four make another similar pyramid. The two tetrahedrons then interlock upside down to each other. If you were to take a two dimensional side view, this cell structure would look like the Seal of Solomon, more popularly recognized as the Star of David. This geometric structure contains all the wisdom of the universe and can be tapped either psychically or electromagnetically. (This is also the exact point where Montauk boys have had incisions for abduction purposes). This tetrahedral structure is what is penetrated by the magician when a Moonchild is created. His own consciousness or psychic/sexual energy (which is electromagnetic in nature) is taking the latent protein within the center of the tetrahedrons and is awakening the kundalini within the zona pellucida. A magical child is thus created.I am so fucking done with this book.The gist is that this method ended up creating Christ and the Antichrist, and Parson ended up creating the Wilson twins (and by extension Cameron the Antichrist) through this method because I guess he was Darth Plagueis all along.I have never been more relieved to see the word “Epilogue” then I am now. Moon talks a bit more about Parsons and Crowley, and the book mercifully ends with this message;“New information about Montauk, its ramifications and other projects continues to come in. There is no shortage of excitement or lack of avenues to pursue in our quest for understanding the universe(s).”“We will talk to you again later.”Great, thanks for reminding me that there’s fifteen books left.Thus concludes *Adventures in Synchronicity”, a book that took another book that was already completely insane and then injected it with two shots of pure LSD. If you managed to survive reading this with your sanity intact, then I applaud you.The purpose of these commentaries was to inform all of you guys and gals of the origin of Stranger Things. Well, I accomplished that part. The second purpose was to formulate a prediction for Season 2. So, based solely on this tomes of madness, here are my predictions:Jonathan is going to drop dead of a heart attackHopper is going to spend the entire season in a courtroom fending off a lawsuit from conspiracy theorists he arrested.Nancy is going to become a born-again Christian and reject both Jonathan and Steve in favor of a magical wino fisherman.Brenner is going to survive, and will end up working out of a mob-owned ice cream truck.Lonnie is going to use the money from his lawsuit to build a time machine.Steve is going to join the Sea Org.Mr. Clark is going to remember that he was an employee of the Brookhaven Hawkins National Laboratory, and then write seventeen books about it, inspiring a generation of conspiracy theorists.Mike, Dustin and Lucas are going to embark on a Goonies-style hunt for Nazi gold, but will get abducted by aliens and be reprogrammed as sleeper agents/hitmen.Will is going to be the host for the Antichrist.Eleven is going to be revealed as the literal Second Coming.It will be revealed that Aleister Crowley saved Barbara at the last second, faked her death and trained her to be a Time-Lord.Mark Hamill will have a cameo.Well, that’s it for this one. Check in on the Hawkins Book Club next week, where we’ll take a look at Pyramids of Montauk: Explorations in Consciousness.Thanks for reading, and until then, Stay Strange.The Montauk Project: Experiments in Time Overview via /r/StrangerThings

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

14th July >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Luke 10:25-37 for the  Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C: ‘Go and do the same yourself’.

Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Year C

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Luke 10:25-37

The good Samaritan

There was a lawyer who, to disconcert Jesus, stood up and said to him, ‘Master, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ He said to him, ‘What is written in the Law? What do you read there?’ He replied, ‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbour as yourself.’ ‘You have answered right,’ said Jesus ‘do this and life is yours.’

But the man was anxious to justify himself and said to Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbour?’ Jesus replied, ‘A man was once on his way down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of brigands; they took all he had, beat him and then made off, leaving him half dead. Now a priest happened to be travelling down the same road, but when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. In the same way a Levite who came to the place saw him, and passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan traveller who came upon him was moved with compassion when he saw him. He went up and bandaged his wounds, pouring oil and wine on them. He then lifted him on to his own mount, carried him to the inn and looked after him. Next day, he took out two denarii and handed them to the innkeeper. “Look after him,” he said “and on my way back I will make good any extra expense you have.” Which of these three, do you think, proved himself a neighbour to the man who fell into the brigands‘ hands?’ ‘The one who took pity on him’ he replied. Jesus said to him, ‘Go, and do the same yourself.’

Gospel (USA)

Luke 10:25–37

Who is my neighbor?

There was a scholar of the law who stood up to test him and said, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “What is written in the law? How do you read it?” He said in reply, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.”He replied to him, “You have answered correctly; do this and you will live.”

But because he wished to justify himself, he said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead. A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. Likewise a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight. He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn, and cared for him. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction, ‘Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.’ Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” He answered, “The one who treated him with mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

Reflections (4)

(i) Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

When Jo Cox, the local political representative, was gunned down in a West Yorkshire town in England three years ago, there was a tremendous outpouring of sadness and anger. She was well known for her passionate commitment to people who were vulnerable and in greatest need, such as refugees from the Syrian conflict. At a service in her local church on the Sunday after she was shot, Rev. Paul Knight spoke of her as a 21st century good Samaritan who had grown into a fervent advocate of the poor and oppressed. Everyone understood the reference to her being a 21st century good Samaritan, because the parable in today’s gospel reading that Jesus first spoke two thousand years ago has continued to speak to us down through the centuries since then.

The Samaritan in the story Jesus tells is portrayed in a very striking way. He stops by the victim on the roadside when the priest and Levite pass by. He was truly present to the injured man, when the others kept their distance. He truly saw the man by the roadside when the priest and Levite merely glanced at him. The quality of the Samaritan’s presence evoked the strong feeling of compassion within him and his compassion flowed over into a whole series of actions. There was nothing half-hearted about what he did for this injured man. He not only attended to the man’s wounds, he took him to an inn and paid for his care. He then told the innkeeper that he would call back on his return from his journey and pay any expenses that might have been incurred in the meantime. This was service of a very thorough kind. He was going to see this through to the end. Jesus is giving a very graphic portrait of what genuine love looks like, the love that was earlier mentioned in the two great commandments, ‘love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, with all your mind, and your neighbour as yourself’. Jesus is saying, ‘this is what love looks like’. In one sense the story is a portrait of Jesus’ own love for broken humanity, a portrait of God’s love present in Jesus.

Yet, the fact that the person who shows this quality of love in the story is a Samaritan gives the parable another layer of meaning. As Jesus was telling this story about a man who fell among robbers who was then approached by a priest followed by a Levite, his listeners would have expected the third person to come along to be a faithful Israelite, a lay person. The story would then have had an anti-clerical tone. The story Jesus told was much more subversive than that because the third person to come along turned out to be a Samaritan. It is difficult for us to understand today the antagonism between Jews and Samaritans in the time of Jesus. The Samaritans, from a Jewish perspective, were the enemy. A contemporary Jewish biblical scholar attempts to place this parable in a modern context in her own country. She says, ‘I am an Israeli Jew on my way from Jerusalem to Jericho, and I am attacked by thieves, beaten, stripped, robbed, and left half dead in a ditch. Two people… pass me by: the first, a Jewish medic from the Israel Defence Forces; the second, a member of the Israel/Palestine Mission Network of a Christian church. The person who takes compassion on me and shows me mercy is a Palestinian Muslim whose sympathies lie with Hamas, a political party whose charter… anticipates Israel’s destruction’. By means of this parable, Jesus invites us to recognize the humanity and the potential for good in our enemies. He is suggesting that the mercy and compassion of God can be revealed to us through those we would usually regard as alien and hostile to all we stand for.

According to the gospel reading, Jesus spoke this parable in answer to the question of the expert in the Jewish Law, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The very question presupposes that some people are our neighbour and some are not. If it is the neighbour that is to be loved, the lawyer wanted Jesus to define ‘neighbour’. The parable Jesus spoke shows that this is the wrong question. The Samaritan in the story did not ask that question. The victim of the robbers by the roadside was presumable a Jew, the enemy of the Samaritans. That didn’t matter to the Samaritan. The injured man was a fellow human being in desperate need of help. That is all that mattered. At the end of the parable, the question Jesus asks the lawyer was, ‘Which of these three was a neighbour to the man who fell into the brigand’s hands?’ What matters, Jesus suggests, is to be a neighbour, and the true neighbour does not ask the question, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The one who is a true neighbour knows that love can have no boundaries and that all of humanity is our neighbour, including, even, our enemy.

And/Or

(ii) Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 When individuals or groups are in conflict, it can be difficult for the conflicting parties to see any good in each other. In times of war, in particular, the warring parties often demonize each other. In the case of the current Israeli-Palestinian conflict, for example, it is probably very difficult for many Palestinians to bring together the noun ‘Jew’ and the adjective ‘good’, and equally difficult for many Jews to associate the noun ‘Palestinian’ with the adjective ‘good’. A pastor working in the Middle East confessed that never once was he even tempted to tell Palestinians a story about a noble Israeli.

 However, Jesus does the equivalent of that in today’s gospel reading. We have become used to referring to the story Jesus tells as the parable of the good Samaritan. We can forget that in the Jewish world of Jesus the words ‘good’ and ‘Samaritan’ would never have been found together. Whatever about the question, ‘Can anything good come out of Nazareth?’ most Jews would have asked, ‘Can anything good come out of Samaria?’ The attitude of Jews and Samaritans to each other was not unlike the attitude of Sunni Muslims and Shiite Muslims to each other in today’s Iraq.

 When Jesus was telling this parable, after stating that the priest and the Levite passed by, his listeners were probably expecting that Jesus would then go on to say that a Jewish layman came along and did the decent thing. The story would then have had an anti-clerical tone, and it would have been appreciated as such. However, the story turned out to be much more subversive than that. It was not a Jewish lay person who responded to the broken traveller, but a despised Samaritan. A member of the group traditionally demonized by Jews showed what the keeping of God’s law really meant in practice. When the Jewish lawyer was asked by Jesus, ‘Which of the three do you think proved himself to be a neighbour?’ he could not bring himself to say ‘the Samaritan’. He simply said, ‘the one who showed compassion’.

 The story Jesus told, like all his parables, can be heard at many levels. One of the ways we can appreciate this story is to hear it as a reminder to us that those we are tempted to dismiss and look down on can often teach us what it means to live as God intends us to live. The Samaritan in the parable was an image of Jesus - just as Jesus is an image of God, as Paul reminds us in today’s second reading. In drawing a picture of the compassionate response of the Samaritan to the wounded traveller, Jesus was drawing a picture of his own compassionate ministry. The parable suggests that Jesus figures can be found in unexpected places. It invites us to recognize goodness wherever it is found, especially when it is found among those we are prone to dismiss or reject.

 The parable also reminds us that help can come to us from unexpected quarters. The wounded man in the parable was presumable a Jew. He would not have expected help to come from a Samaritan. We can sometimes make the same discovery in our own lives. At crucial moments we can receive help from people we would not have expected to help us. In our hour of need we can discover that our assessment of someone was unfair, that our expectations of others were far too ungenerous. The parable suggests that God can sometimes come to us in unfamiliar guises, and that his compassionate love can be revealed to us by the outsider, the stranger, the one we would normally have considered alien to us. There can be a resistance in us to receiving God’s service at the hands of those from whom we feel estranged. When people with whom we are at odds reach out in us in our hour of need, we can be tempted to keep them at bay. The Jewish lawyer struggled to accept that God’s compassionate presence could be revealed through the despised Samaritan. The parable calls on us to allow God to come to us in and through those of God’s own choosing.

 The stories that Jesus tells invite us to find our own place within the story, to identify with one or other of the characters there. In the story of the good Samarian we might be inclined at times to identify with the half-dead traveller. Life has a way of leaving us half-dead at times. If we are drawn to find ourselves there, by the roadside, we can make our own the prayer contained in today’s responsorial psalm, ‘Lord, answer, for your love is kind, in your compassion, turn towards me’. We might also need to pray for the freedom to accept God’s compassion from whatever direction it comes.

 Yet today’s parable more directly invites us to identify with the Samaritan. What Jesus said to the lawyer, he says to us all: ‘Go, and do the same yourself’, in other words, ‘Go, and be the Samaritan’. We all have the potential to make tangible God’s compassionate presence to others. The first step in doing that is to notice. It is first said of the Samaritan that he saw the traveller, he noticed him. Noticing is a small but very significant first step. Yet, it is not enough. The priest and the Levite also noticed, they too saw. What distinguished the Samaritan from them was that he allowed himself to be deeply moved by what he saw. Compassion involves that deep inner movement which comes from allowing ourselves to experience something of the pain of the other. That inner movement will lead to some form of outer movement, some appropriate action on behalf of the other. Such, according to the gospel reading, is the path to life.

And/Or

(iii) Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Children can be great at asking questions, as I am sure every parent here in the church knows. At a certain age, as they begin to think about what they are experiencing, one question can follow hot on the heels of another question. Endless patience can be called for before the barrage of questions. As we move from childhood into adolescence and into adulthood we do not cease to ask questions. The character of our questions can change. We may not ask as many questions, but the questions we do ask tend to be more probing and more significant. We often discover that the answers that we get to our questions generate more questions and set us out on a further search. A good teacher is someone who leaves people asking questions, who leaves them hungering to find out more, wanting to continue the voyage of discovery.

 In today’s gospel reading, an expert in the Jewish law puts a question to Jesus, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ Here was a question whose horizon was both this earthly life and the life beyond. The lawyer was asking, ‘What must I do now in this life to be sure of life beyond death?’ This is one of those fundamental questions that are asked, in one shape or form, in all of the great religious traditions. Yet, it is a very practical question, ‘What must I do?’ Being the good teacher that he was, Jesus pushed the lawyer to try and answer his own question, ‘What is written in the law? What do you read there?’ The lawyer’s own Jewish tradition contained the answer to the question that he was asking. However, the answer he found there generated yet another question that he again put to Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbour?’ This second question the lawyer asks is just as probing and thought-provoking as the first question.

 In day to day speech we tend to use the term ‘neighbour’ in a restricted way. Our neighbours are those who live alongside us. We consider ourselves fortunate to have good neighbours, people who will keep an eye on the house when we are away or to whom we can turn if we need help. We know the value of having good neighbours. We may also know the misfortune of having what are often referred to as neighbours from hell. Such neighbours can take a variety of forms, whether it is the neighbour who plays loud music until all hours of the morning or keeps dogs that bark morning, noon and night, or constantly blocks our driveway with their car. You are familiar with the saying, ‘good fences make good neighbours’, which betrays a rather suspicious view of the neighbour. Very likely, the lawyer who asked Jesus the question, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ would have understood the term ‘neighbour’ in a broader sense, as referring to all other members of God’s people, the Jewish people. The command to ‘love your neighbour as yourself’ was probably understood in that way originally.

 In response to that second question of the lawyer, Jesus speaks the parable of the Good Samaritan, one of the most striking of all Jesus’ parables. Having spoken that parable, Jesus gets to ask a question of his own. He asks the lawyer, ‘which of these three, do you think, proved himself a neighbour to the man who fell into the brigands hands?’ Jesus was asking, ‘Which of the three was a neighbour?’ This is a different question to the one asked by the lawyer, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ Jesus is subtly suggesting to him that the more important question is, ‘What does it mean to be a neighbour?’ That is the question which is answered by Jesus’ parable. The Samaritan exemplifies what it means to be a neighbour. The neighbour is someone who gives himself or herself to the person in need, whoever that person is, without counting the cost. In a sense, Jesus is saying to the lawyer, the true neighbour never asks the question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The Samaritan in the story who came upon the broken body of the Jew by the roadside did not pause to ask ‘Is this the neighbour I am now being asked to love?’ He simply did what was needed for this broken and vulnerable human being.

  In the words of the parable, the Samaritan ‘was moved with compassion’, and the compassionate heart does not discriminate between neighbour and non-neighbour. The Samaritan is an image of Jesus himself, who, as the second reading tells us, is an image of God. Jesus, as God incarnate, is the compassionate one who befriends the broken, whoever they are, regardless of their race or creed. This is what it means to be a neighbour. The true neighbour does not make distinctions between people; the true neighbour does not consider some people more worthy of compassionate service than others. The true neighbour does not ask the question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ because he or she considers every human being as potentially a neighbour. It is to such indiscriminate loving compassion that this morning’s parable calls all of us.

And/Or

(iv) Fifteenth Sunday in Ordinary Time

 As you probably know, a group from the parish were in the Holy Land last month. On one of our trips we travelled down from the city of Jerusalem towards Jericho. We didn’t go into Jericho but bypassed it, as we were heading for the Dead Sea. I was reminded of that journey by the parable in this morning’s gospel reading. That parable speaks of a man going down from Jerusalem to Jericho. It was very obvious to us on that trip that you literally go down from Jerusalem to Jericho, as Jerusalem is 2,500 feet above sea level and Jericho is over a 1,000 feet below sea level. Shortly after we left Jerusalem, the landscape became more and more arid. Very quickly we were into what the gospels call the wilderness of Judea. This was not a desert in the sense in which we usually imagine the deserts of Arabia, but, rather, a hilly, rugged landscape devoid of vegetation. In Jesus’ time the road from Jerusalem to Jericho would have been no more than a fairly basic track. Going through rugged and inhospitable terrain, it was an ideal road for robbers to launch unsuspecting attacks on unfortunate travellers. Jesus’ parables were always true to life; they reflect the life-situation in which the people of that time and place lived.

 The life-situation, in which we find ourselves today, 2,000 years later, is very different from that of Jesus and his contemporaries, and yet this evening’s parable can speak just as powerfully to us today. The parable Jesus speaks is in answer to a question posed by an expert in the Jewish Law, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ He wanted some help in defining who his neighbour was and who was not his neighbour. Who is the neighbour that he is expected to love? Most of Jesus’ contemporaries in Israel. would have understood the term ‘neighbour’ in the commandment to love your neighbour as yourself as referring to one’s fellow Israelite. They would have thought to themselves, ‘Every member of the people of Israel is my neighbour. We can draw a line around the people of Israel, the descendents of the twelve tribes, and say, “these, and these alone, are my neighbours”’. The story Jesus told really challenged that rather narrow view of neighbour. When the priest and the Levite passed by the broken man on the side of the road, the listeners probably expected the next person to come along would be a Jewish lay person. However, the third person to come along, and the only one to show compassion to the broken traveller, was a Samaritan. Jews would never have considered Samaritans as their neighbours; they would never have thought that loving the neighbour included loving the Samaritans. Yet, it was the Samaritan who showed what loving the neighbour really meant. The Samaritan did not ask where this broken traveller was from, what religion he was. He was simply a needy human being, crying out for a compassionate response from another human being. When Jesus finished the parable, he asked a question of his own of the lawyer, ‘Which of these three proved himself a neighbour?’ It is as if Jesus was saying, ‘who is my neighbour?’ is the wrong question. What matters is to be a neighbour, and those who live as good neighbours don’t ask the question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The Samaritan was not preoccupied with the question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ When he came upon the broken traveller, he did not ask, ‘Is this the neighbour I should love or not?’ It is likely that a man left half dead on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho would have been a Jew. This likelihood was neither here nor there in the eyes of the Samaritan; he was a human being in need and that is all that mattered.

 The expert in the Jewish law was concerned to make distinctions – who is my neighbour and who is not? Who am I obliged to love and who am I not obliged to love? The Samaritan in the story made no such distinctions. To that extent he was very much a Jesus figure. Jesus did not make distinctions either. He shared table with whoever invited him to share table; he offered God’s hospitality to all of humanity, within distinction. His love, his mission, was indiscriminate. In the words of the second reading, it embraced ‘everything in heaven and everything on earth’. In telling the parable of the good Samaritan, Jesus put himself into the story in and through the figure of the Samaritan, the outsider, the other. Just as the Samaritan is a Jesus figure, we are all called to be Jesus figures. In the words of Jesus at the end of the gospel reading, we are all called to ‘go and do the same yourself’. Clearly, we have a special love for our family and our closest friends; there are emotional bonds there which cannot easily be replicated. Yet, beyond those bonds of natural affection, Jesus is calling us to be indiscriminate in the way we relate to others, especially to those in great need. The parable seems to be saying that the common humanity that unites us is a much more significant reality than the differences of nationality, race or religion that may distinguish us. If that simple but profound message was taken to heart by all, there would surely be less people left for half-dead by the roadside of life.

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

Email: sjtbclontarf@eircom.net or  frmartinhogan@gmail.com

Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ie  Please join us via our webcam.

Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC.

Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf.

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[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

8th October >> Fr. Martin's Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Luke 10:25-37 for Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time: ‘Go, and do the same yourself’.

Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time.

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Luke 10:25-37

The good Samaritan

There was a lawyer who, to disconcert Jesus, stood up and said to him, ‘Master, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ He said to him, ‘What is written in the Law? What do you read there?’ He replied, ‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbour as yourself.’ ‘You have answered right,’ said Jesus ‘do this and life is yours.’

   But the man was anxious to justify himself and said to Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbour?’ Jesus replied, ‘A man was once on his way down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of brigands; they took all he had, beat him and then made off, leaving him half dead. Now a priest happened to be travelling down the same road, but when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. In the same way a Levite who came to the place saw him, and passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan traveller who came upon him was moved with compassion when he saw him. He went up and bandaged his wounds, pouring oil and wine on them. He then lifted him on to his own mount, carried him to the inn and looked after him. Next day, he took out two denarii and handed them to the innkeeper. “Look after him,” he said “and on my way back I will make good any extra expense you have.” Which of these three, do you think, proved himself a neighbour to the man who fell into the brigands‘ hands?’ ‘The one who took pity on him’ he replied. Jesus said to him, ‘Go, and do the same yourself.’

Gospel (USA)

Luke 10:25-37

Who is my neighbor?

There was a scholar of the law who stood up to test Jesus and said, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “What is written in the law? How do you read it?” He said in reply, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” He replied to him, “You have answered correctly; do this and you will live.”

   But because he wished to justify himself, he said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead. A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. Likewise a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight. He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn, and cared for him. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction, ‘Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.’ Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” He answered, “The one who treated him with mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

Reflections (8) 

(i) Monday, Twenty Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

Today’s gospel reading begins with a question addressed to Jesus by a lawyer, an expert in the Jewish Law, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ It was a very practical question, ‘What must I do?’ The gospel reading ends with Jesus saying to the lawyer, ‘Go and do likewise’, ‘Go and do what the Samaritan in the story did’. It is as if Jesus was saying, ‘You asked me what you are to do, and I am showing what you are to do by the parable, I have just told’. A very practical question was given a very practical answer. What was it that the Samaritan did in the story Jesus told? The first thing he did, and the most important thing he did, was that he allowed himself to be moved emotionally when he saw the half-dead traveller by the roadside. Two other people had already seen that sorry sight of the half-dead traveller and were unmoved. They saw the man, but they didn’t really see him. It was a surface seeing. The Samaritan’s seeing was an attentive seeing; he didn’t just see, he noticed, which is why he was moved emotionally by what he saw. As the gospel reading says, when the Samaritan saw the half dead man, he was moved with compassion. Because he was moved emotionally, he immediately started to move physically, engaging in a whole series of actions on behalf of his fellow traveller, bandaging the man’s wounds, pouring oil and wine on them, placing the man on his horse, carrying him to an inn and paying for him to be looked after, with the promise to pay more on his return journey if necessary. Every action the Samaritan performed was a step towards the poor unfortunate man’s healing. Yet, it all began with the Samaritan’s way of seeing this person in need. He saw him with the eyes of Jesus, compassionate eyes. It is often said of Jesus in the gospel story that he saw and had compassion. The story Jesus told invites us to ask ourselves. ‘How do we see others? How attentive is our seeing? Do I allow myself to be moved by what I see?  It is significant that in the story the person who saw with the eyes of Jesus was an outsider, a Samaritan, someone consider by Jews at the time as not belonging to God’s people. He wasn’t religious in the conventional Jewish sense. Jesus may be reminding us through even people not considered religious in the conventional sense can make his compassionate ministry present to those who need it most.

And/Or

(ii) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

The parable of the Good Samaritan reminds us that help can come to us from unexpected quarters. The wounded man in the parable was presumable a Jew. He would not have expected help to come from a Samaritan, because Jews and Samaritans did not associate with each other at that time. To his great surprise, the broken traveller discovered that God’s compassionate presence was revealed to him by someone from whom he would have had no expectations at all. We can sometimes make the same discovery in our own lives. At crucial moments we can receive help from people we would not have expected to help us. In our hour of need we can discover that our assessment of someone was unfair, that our expectations of others were far too ungenerous. The parable suggests that God can sometimes come to us in unfamiliar guises, and that his compassionate love can be revealed to us by the outsider, the stranger, the one we would normally have considered alien to us. The Jewish lawyer struggled to accept that God’s compassionate presence could be revealed through the despised Samaritan. The parable calls on us to allow God to come to us in and through those of God’s own choosing. The person we might normally have little time for can be God’s messenger to us.

And/Or

(iii) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

In this morning’s gospel reading the lawyer asks two questions. The second question is ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The parable of the Good Samaritan is Jesus’ answer to that question. However, the parable, in reality, does not answer the question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ It answers a different question, ‘What does it mean to be a neighbour?’ That was the question Jesus himself asked at the end of the parable, ‘Which of these three proved himself a neighbour?’ Jesus implies that it is more important to be a neighbour than to ask ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The real neighbour doesn’t draw a distinction between those who are neighbours and those who are not. The real neighbour treats everyone in need as a neighbour, regardless of who they are, just as the Samaritan treated the broken traveller who was presumably a Jew as his neighbour. The lawyer was anxious to draw distinctions, ‘Who is my neighbour and who is not?’ Jesus, like the Samaritan, did not draw distinctions. He gave himself equally to all, whether they were Jews, Samaritans or pagans. He calls on his followers to do the same. We are to give expression to God’s compassionate presence to everyone without discrimination.

And/Or

(iv) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

Any parable can speak to us in different ways. If we identify with one particular character in the parable it will speak to us in one way; if we identify with a different character the parable will speak to us in another way. We often hear the parable in this morning’s gospel reading as an invitation to identify with the character of the good Samaritan, as he is often called. The parable could also be heard as an invitation to identify with the broken traveller who lay on the roadside half dead. We have all known brokenness in various forms. We can be physically broken when we are unwell; we can be emotionally broken because of some heartbreaking experience; we can be mentally broken or, at least, mentally tired. In this morning’s parable the broken traveller, who was a Jew, would have been amazed to discover that the person who stopped to look after him was someone whom he would have regarded as his enemy, the Samaritan. It was the enemy, not the Jewish priest or Levite, who revealed to him the compassion of God. The parable suggests that in our brokenness the Lord can come in us in ways that will surprise us. The compassionate love of God can touch us in and through those with whom we seem to have very little in common. The parable invites us to be open to the many and varied and surprising ways that the Lord can come to us.

And/Or

(v) Monday, Twenty-Seventh week in Ordinary Time

In the gospel reading this morning, a lawyer asks Jesus two very important questions. He first asked Jesus, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ He then went on to ask him, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ It was in response to that second question that Jesus tells the parable of the good Samaritan. Yet, that parable doesn’t really answer the question, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ It answers another question, the question Jesus asks at the end of the parable, ‘Which of these three proved himself a neighbour?’ Jesus is suggesting that it is more important to be a neighbour to others than to be trying to work out ‘who is my neighbour?’ The answer to the lawyer’s first question, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ is ‘Be a neighbour’. The true neighbour does not ask the question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The Samaritan didn’t ask whether the broken man by the roadside was a Jew or a Samaritan or a pagan; he was a fellow human being in need, and that was all that mattered. The Samaritan is a Jesus-figure. Jesus revealed God’s compassionate love to all in need, whether they were Jews, Samaritans or Gentiles. When Jesus says at the end of the parable, ‘God and do likewise’, he is calling on us to become his compassionate presence to others, especially to those most in need, regardless of who they are.

And/Or

(vi) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

The story that Jesus tells in this morning’s gospel reading in response to a question of an expert in the Jewish Law is very familiar to us. We probably tend to hear it as a call to identify with the Samaritan who took care of the broken, half-dead, man on the roadside, when others had passed by. It does make that call on us. However, the story can also be inviting us to identify with the wounded traveller. We are all wounded in different ways; we are all in need of healing of some kind. If we identify with the wounded traveller, we might find ourselves wondering how he felt when someone he would have considered his ‘enemy’, a Samaritan, came to his help. This is the last person he would have expected to stop for him, because Jews and Samaritans had no dealings with each other at that time. He would have had to completely rethink his preconceived ideas about Samaritans. We may have had a similar experience. In our hour of need, someone we had no expectations of, someone we had written off, stands by us, when others we might have expected to help us leave us to our own devices. The Samaritan in the story is very much a Jesus figure. He displayed the same compassion that characterized the ministry of Jesus. One of the messages of this story is that the Lord can come to us in our need in and through the most unexpected of people. Whereas the expert in the Jewish Law who approached Jesus wanted clarity about who he should consider a neighbour, ‘Who is my neighbour?’, the Samaritan in the story Jesus told wasn’t interested in that question. His only concern was to be a neighbour to his fellow human being, whoever he or she might be. Such people always reveal the Lord to us.

And/Or

(vii) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

In the gospels Jesus is revealed as someone who binds up the wounds of those who are broken in body, mind or spirit. He regularly stops and calls over those whom others pass by or goes over to them himself. In that sense the Samaritan in the story Jesus tells in today’s gospel is a Jesus figure. It is said of the Samaritan that when he saw the broken man by the roadside, he was moved with compassion for him. It is often said of Jesus in the gospels that he was moved with compassion for people. It is striking that in the parable Jesus portrays himself not as the priest or with the Levite, those traditionally considered to be holy, but as a Samaritan, someone who, from a Jewish point of view, would have been considered an outsider, excluded from God’s family. One of the messages of the parable is that Jesus can come to us in strange guises. The risen Lord is with us today as one who in his compassion reaches out to us to bind up our wounds. We can experience his compassionate presence in ways we might never have expected, just as the Jewish broken man by the roadside would have been surprised to discover that his compassionate healer was a Samaritan, a traditional enemy of the Jewish people. There is at least one other message in the parable. The Samaritan didn’t ask whether the broken man by the roadside was a Jew or a Samaritan or a pagan; he was a fellow human being in need, and that was all that mattered. Likewise, Jesus revealed God’s compassionate love to all in need, regardless of their race or creed. When Jesus says at the end of the parable, ‘God and do likewise’, he is calling on us to become his compassionate presence to others, especially to those most in need, regardless of who they are.

And/Or

(viii) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

The question asked by the lawyer in the gospel reading, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ is a really important question. He knew the answer to his own question and, at the prompting of Jesus, he gave the answer from his own religious tradition. What he had to do to inherit eternal life was to love, to love God firstly with all his being, and then, inseparable from that first love, to love his neighbour as if the neighbour were his own self. That could have been the end of the conversation, but the lawyer had another question, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ If his first question was a really important one, his second question was a little problematic. In asking ‘Who is my neighbour?’ he was implying that some people were not his neighbour. The parable Jesus told in response to his second question showed that every human being in need is a neighbour. The injured man in the story was presumably a Jew. Yet, the one who helped him was a Samaritan, the traditional enemy of the Jew. For the Samaritan, this Jew lying by the roadside was not an enemy but a neighbour because his need was desperate. The Samaritan loved this Jewish man into life by his self-giving actions. The Samaritan didn’t ask the lawyer’s question, ‘Is this my neighbour?’ He simply got to work; he showed himself a neighbour to this broken man. At the end of the story Jesus tells the lawyer, ‘Go and do likewise’. Here was the answer to the lawyer’s question, ‘What must I do?’ Jesus is saying to him and to all of us, ‘Go and be a neighbour to those who cross your path in life, whoever they are, whatever their race, religion or creed’.Those who are truly a neighbour don’t ask ‘Who is my neighbour?’

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

Email: sjtbclontarf@eircom.net or  frmartinhogan@gmail.com

Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ie  Please join us via our webcam.

Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC.

Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf.

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[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

9th Oct >> Fr. Martin's Gospel Reflection on Luke 10:25-37 for Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time:  ‘Go, and do the same yourself.’  

Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Europe, Africa, New Zealand, Australia & Canada)

Luke 10:25-37

There was a lawyer who, to disconcert Jesus, stood up and said to him, ‘Master, what must I do to inherit eternal life?’ He said to him, ‘What is written in the Law? What do you read there?’ He replied, ‘You must love the Lord your God with all your heart, with all your soul, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbour as yourself.’ ‘You have answered right,’ said Jesus ‘do this and life is yours.’

   But the man was anxious to justify himself and said to Jesus, ‘And who is my neighbour?’ Jesus replied, ‘A man was once on his way down from Jerusalem to Jericho and fell into the hands of brigands; they took all he had, beat him and then made off, leaving him half dead. Now a priest happened to be travelling down the same road, but when he saw the man, he passed by on the other side. In the same way a Levite who came to the place saw him, and passed by on the other side. But a Samaritan traveller who came upon him was moved with compassion when he saw him. He went up and bandaged his wounds, pouring oil and wine on them. He then lifted him on to his own mount, carried him to the inn and looked after him. Next day, he took out two denarii and handed them to the innkeeper. “Look after him,” he said “and on my way back I will make good any extra expense you have.” Which of these three, do you think, proved himself a neighbour to the man who fell into the brigands‘ hands?’ ‘The one who took pity on him’ he replied. Jesus said to him, ‘Go, and do the same yourself.’

Gospel (USA)

Luke 10:25-37

Who is my neighbor?

There was a scholar of the law who stood up to test Jesus and said, “Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?” Jesus said to him, “What is written in the law? How do you read it?” He said in reply, “You shall love the Lord, your God, with all your heart, with all your being, with all your strength, and with all your mind, and your neighbor as yourself.” He replied to him, “You have answered correctly; do this and you will live.”

   But because he wished to justify himself, he said to Jesus, “And who is my neighbor?” Jesus replied, “A man fell victim to robbers as he went down from Jerusalem to Jericho. They stripped and beat him and went off leaving him half-dead. A priest happened to be going down that road, but when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. Likewise a Levite came to the place, and when he saw him, he passed by on the opposite side. But a Samaritan traveler who came upon him was moved with compassion at the sight. He approached the victim, poured oil and wine over his wounds and bandaged them. Then he lifted him up on his own animal, took him to an inn, and cared for him. The next day he took out two silver coins and gave them to the innkeeper with the instruction, ‘Take care of him. If you spend more than what I have given you, I shall repay you on my way back.’ Which of these three, in your opinion, was neighbor to the robbers’ victim?” He answered, “The one who treated him with mercy.” Jesus said to him, “Go and do likewise.”

Reflections (8)

(i) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

There are two striking stories in today’s readings. The first reading was the beginning of the story of Jonah, the reluctant prophet. The Lord wanted him to preach the Lord’s message to the people of Nineveh, who were Israel’s enemies. Jonah wanted nothing to do with this mission and fled as far as he could from the Lord. However, the Lord would not let him go and pursued him. Jonah would, in the end, be obliged to preach the gospel of God’s love to the enemies of Israel, bringing God’s life-giving message to them. If in the first reading, Jonah flees from the Lord’s call to minister to his enemies, in the gospel reading, someone responds generously to the Lord’s call to minister to the enemy. A Samaritan travelling from Jerusalem to Jericho came upon a Jew who was half-dead by the roadside. He did not run from him, as the priest and Levite had done, even though Jews and Samaritans were traditional enemies of each other. If Jonah is the reluctant messenger of God to the enemy, the Samaritan is the willing messenger of God to the enemy. He heard the Lord call out to him in and through the enemy, the stranger, the other. The Lord can be calling us to serve the most unlikely of people, those we would normally distance ourselves from. There can be something of the reluctance of Jonah in all of us in response to that call. The gospel reading calls on us to have something of the spontaneous generosity of spirit of the Samaritan. As Jesus says in commenting on the story, ‘Go and do likewise’.

And/Or

(ii) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

The parable of the Good Samaritan reminds us that help can come to us from unexpected quarters. The wounded man in the parable was presumable a Jew. He would not have expected help to come from a Samaritan, because Jews and Samaritans did not associate with each other at that time. To his great surprise, the broken traveller discovered that God’s compassionate presence was revealed to him by someone from whom he would have had no expectations at all. We can sometimes make the same discovery in our own lives. At crucial moments we can receive help from people we would not have expected to help us. In our hour of need we can discover that our assessment of someone was unfair, that our expectations of others were far too ungenerous. The parable suggests that God can sometimes come to us in unfamiliar guises, and that his compassionate love can be revealed to us by the outsider, the stranger, the one we would normally have considered alien to us. The Jewish lawyer struggled to accept that God’s compassionate presence could be revealed through the despised Samaritan. The parable calls on us to allow God to come to us in and through those of God’s own choosing. The person we might normally have little time for can be God’s messenger to us.

And/Or

(iii) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Sunday in Ordinary Time

In this morning’s gospel reading the lawyer asks two questions. The second question is ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The parable of the Good Samaritan is Jesus’ answer to that question. However, the parable, in reality, does not answer the question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ It answers a different question, ‘What does it mean to be a neighbour?’ That was the question Jesus himself asked at the end of the parable, ‘Which of these three proved himself a neighbour?’ Jesus implies that it is more important to be a neighbour than to ask ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The real neighbour doesn’t draw a distinction between those who are neighbours and those who are not. The real neighbour treats everyone in need as a neighbour, regardless of who they are, just as the Samaritan treated the broken traveller who was presumably a Jew as his neighbour. The lawyer was anxious to draw distinctions, ‘Who is my neighbour and who is not?’ Jesus, like the Samaritan, did not draw distinctions. He gave himself equally to all, whether they were Jews, Samaritans or pagans. He calls on his followers to do the same. We are to give expression to God’s compassionate presence to everyone without discrimination.

And/Or

(iv) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

Any parable can speak to us in different ways. If we identify with one particular character in the parable it will speak to us in one way; if we identify with a different character the parable will speak to us in another way. We often hear the parable in this morning’s gospel reading as an invitation to identify with the character of the good Samaritan, as he is often called. The parable could also be heard as an invitation to identify with the broken traveller who lay on the roadside half dead. We have all known brokenness in various forms. We can be physically broken when we are unwell; we can be emotionally broken because of some heartbreaking experience; we can be mentally broken or, at least, mentally tired. In this morning’s parable the broken traveller, who was a Jew, would have been amazed to discover that the person who stopped to look after him was someone whom he would have regarded as his enemy, the Samaritan. It was the enemy, not the Jewish priest or Levite, who revealed to him the compassion of God. The parable suggests that in our brokenness the Lord can come in us in ways that will surprise us. The compassionate love of God can touch us in and through those with whom we seem to have very little in common. The parable invites us to be open to the many and varied and surprising ways that the Lord can come to us.

And/Or

(v) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

In the gospel reading this morning, a lawyer asks Jesus two very important questions. He first asked Jesus, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ He then went on to ask him, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ It was in response to that second question that Jesus tells the parable of the good Samaritan. Yet, that parable doesn’t really answer the question, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ It answers another question, the question Jesus asks at the end of the parable, ‘Which of these three proved himself a neighbour?’ Jesus is suggesting that it is more important to be a neighbour to others than to be trying to work out ‘who is my neighbour?’ The answer to the lawyer’s first question, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ is ‘Be a neighbour’. The true neighbour does not ask the question ‘Who is my neighbour?’ The Samaritan didn’t ask whether the broken man by the roadside was a Jew or a Samaritan or a pagan; he was a fellow human being in need, and that was all that mattered. The Samaritan is a Jesus-figure. Jesus revealed God’s compassionate love to all in need, whether they were Jews, Samaritans or Gentiles. When Jesus says at the end of the parable, ‘God and do likewise’, he is calling on us to become his compassionate presence to others, especially to those most in need, regardless of who they are.

And/Or

(vi) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

The story that Jesus tells in this morning’s gospel reading in response to a question of an expert in the Jewish Law is very familiar to us. We probably tend to hear it as a call to identify with the Samaritan who took care of the broken, half-dead, man on the roadside, when others had passed by. It does make that call on us. However, the story can also be inviting us to identify with the wounded traveller. We are all wounded in different ways; we are all in need of healing of some kind. If we identify with the wounded traveller, we might find ourselves wondering how he felt when someone he would have considered his ‘enemy’, a Samaritan, came to his help. This is the last person he would have expected to stop for him, because Jews and Samaritans had no dealings with each other at that time. He would have had to completely rethink his preconceived ideas about Samaritans. We may have had a similar experience. In our hour of need, someone we had no expectations of, someone we had written off, stands by us, when others we might have expected to help us leave us to our own devices. The Samaritan in the story is very much a Jesus figure. He displayed the same compassion that characterized the ministry of Jesus. One of the messages of this story is that the Lord can come to us in our need in and through the most unexpected of people. Whereas the expert in the Jewish Law who approached Jesus wanted clarity about who he should consider a neighbour, ‘Who is my neighbour?’, the Samaritan in the story Jesus told wasn’t interested in that question. His only concern was to be a neighbour to his fellow human being, whoever he or she might be. Such people always reveal the Lord to us.

And/Or

(vii) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

In the gospels Jesus is revealed as someone who binds up the wounds of those who are broken in body, mind or spirit. He regularly stops and calls over those whom others pass by or goes over to them himself. In that sense the Samaritan in the story Jesus tells in today’s gospel is a Jesus figure. It is said of the Samaritan that when he saw the broken man by the roadside, he was moved with compassion for him. It is often said of Jesus in the gospels that he was moved with compassion for people. It is striking that in the parable Jesus portrays himself not as the priest or with the Levite, those traditionally considered to be holy, but as a Samaritan, someone who, from a Jewish point of view, would have been considered an outsider, excluded from God’s family. One of the messages of the parable is that Jesus can come to us in strange guises. The risen Lord is with us today as one who in his compassion reaches out to us to bind up our wounds. We can experience his compassionate presence in ways we might never have expected, just as the Jewish broken man by the roadside would have been surprised to discover that his compassionate healer was a Samaritan, a traditional enemy of the Jewish people. There is at least one other message in the parable. The Samaritan didn’t ask whether the broken man by the roadside was a Jew or a Samaritan or a pagan; he was a fellow human being in need, and that was all that mattered. Likewise, Jesus revealed God’s compassionate love to all in need, regardless of their race or creed. When Jesus says at the end of the parable, ‘God and do likewise’, he is calling on us to become his compassionate presence to others, especially to those most in need, regardless of who they are.

And/Or

(viii) Monday, Twenty-Seventh Week in Ordinary Time

The question asked by the lawyer in the gospel reading, ‘What must I do to inherit eternal life?’ is a really important question. He knew the answer to his own question and, at the prompting of Jesus, he gave the answer from his own religious tradition. What he had to do to inherit eternal life was to love, to love God firstly with all his being, and then, inseparable from that first love, to love his neighbour as if the neighbour were his own self. That could have been the end of the conversation, but the lawyer had another question, ‘Who is my neighbour?’ If his first question was a really important one, his second question was a little problematic. In asking ‘Who is my neighbour?’ he was implying that some people were not his neighbour. The parable Jesus told in response to his second question showed that every human being in need is a neighbour. The injured man in the story was presumably a Jew. Yet, the one who helped him was a Samaritan, the traditional enemy of the Jew. For the Samaritan, this Jew lying by the roadside was not an enemy but a neighbour because his need was desperate. The Samaritan loved this Jewish man into life by his self-giving actions. The Samaritan didn’t ask the lawyer’s question, ‘Is this my neighbour?’ He simply got to work; he showed himself a neighbour to this broken man. At the end of the story Jesus tells the lawyer, ‘Go and do likewise’. Here was the answer to the lawyer’s question, ‘What must I do?’ Jesus is saying to him and to all of us, ‘Go and be a neighbour to those who cross your path in life, whoever they are, whatever their race, religion or creed’.Those who are truly a neighbour don’t ask ‘Who is my neighbour?’

Fr. Martin Hogan, Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin, D03 AO62, Ireland.

Email: sjtbclontarf@eircom.net or  frmartinhogan@gmail.com

Parish Website: www.stjohnsclontarf.ie  Please join us via our webcam.

Twitter: @SJtBClontarfRC.

Facebook: St John the Baptist RC Parish, Clontarf.

Tumblr: Saint John the Baptist Parish, Clontarf, Dublin.