I wrote this acknowledgment to a book I one day hope to publish but for now I will lay it out here. And if for no one else or for no other reason than to live long enough to understand why it has all happened here is where I begin to map it all out. But before I begin, I need to pay another debt of gratitude to those since then who have stepped forward and said…”I believe you.” Because you see, there are so many who haven’t and the list of them is much longer.
To Candy: Thank you. And to John: ” I took you on a journey, you came and you saw.” And lastly, To Myself: Thank you for not folding.”
Spirit, What? Voo Doo, Who do You think your fooling?
You die. You’re dead, nothing more, forever more. I’m a thirty-five year old male. It’s November 1998.
I am as objectively as I dare measure, a man whose virtues are simple, functioning at best, by processes of elimination—procedural and step by step; one step at a time. And two, a conservative with no interests in futuristic or science fiction and by no means a “Trek-y.”
I further believe that it would be a fair self-examination to portray myself as a man who developed as a result of my people’s teachings. I was taught right from wrong. Instilled in me are the beliefs that you should expect to be treated as you treat others.
There are people who have lived out their lives, expired in death, housed no religious convictions, yet operated by similar standards of mores and values. There are those who live today who do not posses spiritual attachments but still yet believe in the standards of living by the golden rule.
As I look back at the most awesome months, as I will surely ever live, I sit here amazed that I came through it a whole person. But in fact, I’m a whole lot better of a person. I have evolved into the person that I have always wanted to be, the person that I’ve always known that I was.
Of course there will be skeptics of my truths; of this I am sure. I have prepared myself for this. I have been through the frustration of questioning everything that I speak of in these writings, yet I don’t have a better or more honest explanation of the one presented here.
Telling my truth will no doubt come as a great cost to me. I have already alienated many who were close to me, who cannot accept that what happened to me was actual or real.
Finally, I have satisfied a quest for defining what love is, instead of what it is not. “Everything that love is not, is nothing at all.”
To those who stayed with me, believed in me and kept me from falling. To my friends Christy and Drew, my faithful canine companions and guardian angels Star and her daughter Gazer., I love you. I Love you. I will forever Love You.
The Lord is my shepherd.
I shall not want
Ok World….Here it Goes….
By the way, “Seth is me.”
Seth B. had noticed the strangeness, but he ignored what he saw; in the beginning, anyway. He had acknowledged– to himself alone how ironic the placement of tiny bits of trash, cloths fibers, and debris from the street would collect together and form what would appear to be ceremonial masks. It was if the placement of all these were intentional and artistically placed, for the purpose of, “What?”
Seth B. remembered what his Great Grandmother had told him as a little boy when he called her attention to a cloud formation that appeared to him as a large clown’s face. “There’s a face in almost everything, if you look long enough,” she said. He’d wondered then why at that moment his Grandmother never looked to see the formation that he had pointed out to her.
They were like voo doo dolls, large and small, Mardi Gras masks, beautifully constructed and planned, but without adhesives, or any other material used for it’s preservation of lasting longevity. They were miraculous and ironic, master pieces of just the right combination of material, trash and debris for the formation of masks, representative of “what?”
For days just prior, he saw several in the park where he’d walked the dog, several blocks from where he’d lived. And while visiting friends on the north side of the city, and the south side as well, he noticed the masks on the ground, though he’d never made mention of any of them, but instead took a mental note of their existence, and left it alone until now.
It was on a Saturday—near the end of July—that Brennen would finally address the strange and peculiar formations, vocally. Seth was guarded and didn’t want anyone thinking of him foolish for giving consideration that what he was looking at was anything more than just what it was-to the eye of any one else—trash. And to draw attention to “trash”, would necessitate a plan for adversity, he’d have to fool his closer friends into believing that the masks were in fact a discovery made by them. All Seth would have to do is to set the stage, to let it appear that it was their idea, their discovery.
Don Paulsey, was Seth’s roommate. And like Seth himself, Don was layed-back and open-minded Seth had been long acquainted with don and therefore was careful with his selection of words as he began to speak of the “Strangeness,”he wanted so much for Don to understand. He would make every attempt to drive Don in the direction of initiating a conversation or at the very leaste make some off-handed mention of the strange paper macheted masks scattered about the back yard where the two men walked, talking about everything but the masks. Don Paulsey never made mention of the masks though, nor did he seem to even notice them. Seth didn’t mention them either.
July 30th 1998
The following day Seth B.began to take more notice and became more and more attracted to the strange masks scattered about his yard and driveway. He begin to spend more and more time studying their individual, collective make-up and design. Each character seemed to represent what seemed to be and entity of it’s own, the skeletal remains of what was—but was no more?
His knowledge was innate, somehow inherited—natural, but limited and developing. The awareness and knowledge of “them,” and who “they,” were, was beginning to form. He could sense it. He could feel it, and as he turned and looked down his driveway, he could see it, clearly.
The letters, M-E-R-I-D-E-T-H-E appeared on his concrete drive way. The letters appeared as nothing more than shadows. But it was impossible. There was nothing obtrusive to cause the shadows, no trees, not, even the house, nor the position of the sun could cause these, Brennen thought to himself. But clearly—they were the letters spelling out the name, Meredith.
“Anyone can see this, now I can show them,” Seth thought excitedly! “There really is something going on here,” he murmured. And with an about face, he turned and ran in inside where moments later he returned with his roommate and a friend, Pam Jarvis—who had moments earlier arrived for a visit.
Disheartening as it was, no one complied with Seth’s findings. Pam tried desperately to rescue Seth from his state of embarrassment, believing only that Seth believed, but no corroborating with what he claimed to see. She was puzzled, concerned, waiting for a punch line that never came. Something was wrong alright. But seemingly, what needed mending lye with in Seth alone.
“Can’t you see the word, M-E-R-I-D-E-T-H-E,” Seth asked with pure panic in his voice. There was no punch line and Seth finally realized that he was alone in his ability or his reality to see what others obviously could not. Or, it could be that it was as it appeared, he was simply cracking up.
“Look, here’s M-E-R,” and letter by letter Seth made failing attempts to illustrate the configurations of his findings to and audience of two who wanted to see what he saw, but was friends enough not to comply for the sake of satisfying his desire to have them see what they simply could not. Seth was wrecked with both embarrassment and confusion.
Over the next few days, the word Meredith, perpetuated, along with other words, phrases and eventually sentences began to manifest, not only in his driveway, but on the walls inside of his home, in the street and everywhere he went, the words would be there too. More frequently, more distinctly, with brighter and brighter illumination, but for his eyes only? No, it didn’t make sense, I can’t be the only one seeing this,” Seth tried to unravel the mystery on his own—to no avail.
“No, it didn’t make sense,” Seth thought. Schizophrenia, by definition made sense but he wasn’t ready to accept that as yet. There was more to it than this. A spiritual awakening, hints of a forthcoming visit from aliens—perhaps.
Seth B. had managed to alienate all with whom regarded him as friend, in one way or another. Over those next days, even those who continued to look in on him, looked at him sympathetically as if to say , “Yes schizophrenia is a terrible thing, Isn’t it?” Or, worse yet, “Won’t you please find something new to obsess about, this one’s growing old.”
Ironically, Seth felt compassionately at odds with his friends, as well as in agreement with them. His mind was open and he yet he had to keep believing in himself even if they could not. He was sympathetic to their ignorant abstinence and received them lovingly with unspoken sentiments of understanding and forgiveness. As difficult as that was, he accepted that the humility that they bestowed their intention. And, Seth B. took comfort in knowing this, caused him to love them all the more.
The days that followed were emotionally draining and intense. The distractions became more and more visible, blatant and bound with intent, and urgencey. No matter where he went, inside his home or out, on every wall, on every lawn, on every concrete slab bore the script.
Clearly lit, clearly legible, it was there for Seth’s eyes only. And that was the true torment. His failed attempts to convince through blocked,
walk through- illustrations, unsuccessful. Time and time again, Seth B. would be convinced that this would be the occasion, that it would be “Now,” that he could illustrate his findings and that they could be perceived by others, that they would be seen with the same clarity with which he could see. But it never happened and that time never came. There wasn’t even a semblance of what he had hoped.Not
Note: I don’t believe that these collections of debris were formed for my benefit . I do believe the creation of them is from an energy source having nothing to do with me whatsoever. I’m not sure at this point why they exist or for what reason they are formed but I do believe that they are formed by an energy source excluding happenstance.