"Look at the bugger; it’s not enough for him to be master, he has to be God." --Jacques-Alexis Thuriot after having watched Robespierre descend from a manmade mountain during the Festival for the Supreme Being
I'll admit I don't know much about Glenn Beck, aka the Weepy Bitch. But I've gotten enough of a (foul) whiff of the Bitch to know he plays on pure emotion. Oftentimes we don't act in our best interest, damaging our lives, and we have two choices at that point: take responsibility or evade it. Beck plays to the latter crowd. By convoluting fact and fiction, by twisting reality into a permanent victimhood, he's able to leave a perpetual finger pointing at all times.
In essence: "I hate people who think! All they want to do is make everyone else feel inferior! Who says thinking is so necessary anyway? Thought police and fascists, that's who! Taking away our liberty to not think! Oh, the humanity!"
Now, we've all played the weepy bitch before. But making a religion out of it is something else. Still, Beck cannot escape the universal law: you are what you protest. He is a witch-burning witch and if you want to know what he thinks of himself, you need only listen to his accusations. After all, when one is a traitor to one's country, the best defense is a campaign of relentless accusations of others' (alleged) treason.
From Robespierre's Report on the Principles of Political Morality, February 5, 1794:
If virtue be the spring of a popular government in times of peace, the spring of that government during a revolution is virtue combined with terror: virtue, without which terror is destructive; terror, without which virtue is impotent. Terror is only justice prompt, severe and inflexible; it is then an emanation of virtue; it is less a distinct principle than a natural consequence of the general principle of democracy, applied to the most pressing wants of the country. ... The government in a revolution is the despotism of liberty against tyranny.
Backward thinking is not new. In the same way we (allegedly) hope to wipe out terrorists by killing all who we label as such, Robespierre perfected the fine art of hysteria long before Weepy Bitch. Anyone who "threatened" the revolution, the holiest of holies, should be executed in virtuous terror, argued the would-be God. Purity is proven by the death of those you disdain. Luckily, Beck cannot send victims to the National Razor like the original weepy bitch, but all who sell the lie of false enemies do harm.
(Of course, we have sold ourselves this lie on a national level, predator drones being the new guillotines, the new "justice prompt, severe and inflexible".)
The Festival for the Supreme Being was Robespierre's downfall as "multiple sources state that Robespierre came down the mountain in a way that resembled Moses as the leader of the people." And many thought "he was attempting to create a new religion with himself as its god." Robespierre had gotten so full of himself - after having literally gotten away with murder for years - he did come to think of himself as God. That's the conclusion all frauds come to eventually. It's nature's way of purging.
And now we have another would-be Moses descending from the mountain, staged to piggyback on the meaning of a true man of integrity: Martin Luther King. And this is where I get rightly pissed. Instead of these weepy bitches engaging in a Stalinesque rewriting of history for our children, they should be made to read Dr. King's "Letter from a Birmingham Jail" and learn something about true justice to "restore honor" (the stated purpose of the Weepy Bitch rally).
I do realize the greatest religion in America today is wishful thinking (which makes sense for a civilization in its twilight stage). The oil spill is gone like magic! The economy is getting better without new jobs! We can kill everyone who hates us and be safe! The list goes on and on and on. And during such times high priests of the popular creed will rise up to be praised. Robespierre was defrocked and executed, ending France's mock revolution. I can only hope we do the same.
But mark this: There will be terrible times in the last days. People will be lovers of themselves, lovers of money, boastful, proud, abusive, disobedient to their parents, ungrateful, unholy, without love, unforgiving, slanderous, without self-control, brutal, not lovers of the good, treacherous, rash, conceited, lovers of pleasure rather than lovers of God — having a form of godliness but denying its power. Have nothing to do with them.
"Is this the one?" Her aristocratic nose turned upward in her inspection.
"Yes, that's him," he confirmed in amusement, leaning idly against the wall. As master of the house - and the richest man in Rome - he enjoyed bringing pleasure to his guests.
"Not much to him, is there?" Her eyes were programmed for disdain, yet she wondered why she fought it for the petite personage standing before her. Insecurity pressed her into contempt. "No wonder he didn't join the other slaves in revolt. What could this weakling possibly have to offer?" Then she turned her back on him as if that proved her point.
"He says there's no need to fight. That one day I'm just going to let him go free and I quote: 'of my own free will', unquote."
"Really? How amusingly absurd!" It bothered her that his statement lessened her confidence rather than encouraged it. "Not only is he a coward but it seems mentally impaired. I'm surprised he's of any service to you at all!"
"He has his uses," assured the master, not wanting to seem the fool.
***
No one wanted to seem the fool anymore, not after Spartacus and his slave uprising had rocked the empire. Upon pain of death no Roman would admit the permanent dent Spartacus had made on their self-image, yanking from under them the false leg of superiority. Still, they struggled to maintain the precious lie, but the price had gone up. And tomorrow didn't look any better. Even for he, Crassus, the general who finally squashed the revolt.
But the Slave was no coward and found himself dismayed when Spartacus and his burgeoning forces came through, gathering slaves on a path to eventual doom. The Thracian gladiator inspired his followers with impossible dreams and it was true many would have joined him even if they knew it meant eventual death. But for thousands it meant only the cruel fate of crucifixion as Rome sought to reassert her authority and self-esteem. Neither ever fully recovered.
Looting in vengeance and turning the knife back on their tormenters were the rebellious slaves, and the Slave was urged to join the fight as the winds of revolt swept through. "You owe them nothing! Come with us and be free!"
"It's true I owe them nothing - but I owe myself. And freedom is not what will come of this. It must come from our masters."
"Are you crazy? To hell with them! They're never going to free you! Death is what they deserve and death is what we shall give them!"
The Slave was sold from a land beyond the farthest reaches of the empire, and never had he felt more foreign than at this moment, belonging to no group on earth but his own. But that was enough.
"You cannot defeat their power with power. That is their game and this republic their empire. No one man rules over them to be killed, to cut the head off the snake. But that day is coming and their decline will be irreversible."
"Idiot! This is not the time for philosophy but for action! The day is ours to rule!"
"I agree, it is no time for philosophy, but reality, and that is of what I speak."
"Suit yourself! I'm not wasting any more time with you! I've waited years for this moment and I'm taking it!"
The Slave remembered the scene well, branded into his memory with the background of noisy chaos and burning buildings searing his senses. Like a passing storm the revolt moved on with news of distant success over the next few months and then, a final defeat. Now no one respected the Slave who stayed. He was no freedom fighter; a man without heart. Who were these frail beings from the the far east? A people not worth conquering. A people without courage.
But they could not have been more wrong.
Many were those who took the easy way out, joining the rebellion despite their qualms and misgivings, fearing most what would be said of them. Even when under the most vile of leadership, rare is the soldier who refuses to participate in war. Easier to risk death than be made outcast. War is nothing more than a conspiracy of the silenced doubts of men. But the Slave stood his ground though he be branded traitor and a cowardly person, contemptible in the eyes of others. He had the courage to resist.
***
The aristocratic lady, having heard of this oddity, had come to inspect him for herself. She too felt the psychic wound of the self-justification for slavery vanishing for having suffered defeat at the hands of their "inferiors" and she hoped in meeting one so feckless as the Slave the gnawing doubts unleashed by Spartacus could be quashed, the genie put back in the bottle. But the Slave gave her no such satisfaction and in a strange way she felt he as master of the situation instead of the other way around. That, of course, could not be reality.
"Drop your robe. I wish to see the size of a coward's penis."
The Slave did so without shame or pleasure, annoying the lady to no end. She made remarks she considered appropriately disparaging and bade him to cover up attesting she cared only to see the bodies of real men. The Slave's master, a Roman general, was more wary in his tactics. He knew he could have the Slave's neck at any moment and yet, he knew he would never allow it. At least not until he understood who this Slave was. The conquering general refused to accept his current understanding.
He remembered their lasting conversation of the sword...
"You know what makes the Roman soldier the greatest in the world, Slave? It's not just our superior training, or our visionary commanders - keep your eye on young Caesar! - nor our ingenious engineering. Yes, those are factors, but they are mere byproducts. It is our belief that makes us strongest. It's he who believes the most who wins the most. Our noble Republic government is worth a thousand legions. Our opponents are savage, brutal, clever, even fanatical warriors - but for what do they fight? An inferior way of life, lacking in understanding and sophistication. We don't just conquer but we liberate, introducing them to the Roman way, a better way!
"What do you think of that?"
Do you feel my power?
The Slave felt the raging energy of the general. It was true, the light of the world - such as it was - shined on Rome and that was her edge. She would bend, she would ebb and flow, but she would never break as long as she held the light. The Slave too saw that light and knew that here in Rome he was at the center of the world and he felt a vibrancy in the city unlike anywhere else. But savagery has its limitations.
"It is said - since you ask my unworthy opinion - that if one must live by the sword then one has already lost."
The commander let out a repressed smile. "Words of old women and feeble men!" he dismissed with a wave of the arm.
"As you wish."
Damn him! He constantly defeats me with his surrender. Argue, you fool! Don't leave me to my own words. "Haven't you understood anything I've said? I tell you the secrets of an empire! It is by the sword man lives, not by pretty words. Just look at you! You wield no sword, you become a slave. What kind of argument is that?"
"I'm sorry, but my opinions can only be my own."
"Speak! I'm not afraid of your words!" bluffed the Roman, who was indeed afraid, more afraid than he had been on any battlefield, for the worth of his life was at stake.
"Yes, I am a slave to Rome - as Rome is to her sword. There is no freedom for either of us. You speak of an empire but your empire rots from within."
"How dare you! We grow stronger every day!"
"If you wish me into silence..."
"Go ahead. You amuse me."
The Slave's voice drew deep and piercing, reaching into the soul of the Roman - and every living being. "You speak of a glorious future when I stand here before you a slave. But who is the captive here? Are you not indebted to me? Does not one chain one's own heart to make another a slave?"
The general was of two minds: one outraged, the other rejoicing. He'd risen through the ranks by his pursuit of the recognition of truth, to be able to read his enemy's mind and forestall his tactics. Nothing in the universe gave him more pleasure than that, it justified his conquests - and his lusts. But he was at a crossroads: to continue his pursuit of truth or turn his back on it and keep his approved lusts. This damnable slave - of all the luck to get one like him! - brought this internal war to light, the kind of war no commander can afford.
"Pity my ignorance, but how does one free oneself without a sword? Kill me and you may have your freedom! Or does actual freedom mean so little to you?" At that moment, the general was willing to give his life to see the Slave throw his away.
"Killing you does not benefit me though I may say there are times when I wish it. But I want neither you nor a sword as my master."
"Then all life is useless! You'll remain a slave forever and die! How can you ever plan to be free, tell me that!"
"You will simply let me go, of your own free will. You will see it's to your benefit."
Yes! Yes! I can feel it in my heart. What a glorious freedom that would be, just to let it all go! By the gods I'd love to take that final step. Truth IS freedom! But can I do this and live? Can I ever explain letting myself go? Would I still be seen as a loyal Roman? Truth's freedom leads me away from Rome and there I would die - but if I die what use is the truth? So the reality is...I must disregard the truth.
But once having been exposed there's no unknowing. "Wishful thinking!" scoffed the general. "You may go now." Yes, deep within, the general knew the wishful thinking was his, and he lived a secret torment ever since that conversation.
***
He'd brought in the aristocrat woman - someone who'd never harbored any thoughts of freeing a slave - as reinforcements, as someone untainted with moral struggles. Little did he suspect her equally flailing feeling of the ice melting under feet. But now having met the Slave, her sharp nose aimed squarely at his defeat at all costs.
"He has his uses, you say? Come closer," she beckoned though it was she who had stepped away. "Tell me what are your uses so we can all know what makes you so special."
"Only a free man knows his true usefulness."
"Did you hear that, Crassus? He wants to be a free man! But when he had the chance he did not take it. What are we to think of a person like that? Methinks a liar he be."
"I have seen no such chance, my lady."
"I bet!" The general was disappointed as he monitered the confrontation. She fared no better against this human stonewall than he. "Perhaps he'd be more useful in a brothel, Crassus. See what good his high talk does there! Do you think you have the talent for it?"
"Certainly you have the power to place my life where you wish, just as I have the power to end it." The Slave's voice was serenity itself, untouched by the world, living life on its own terms. The Slave never saw a reason to turn his back on the truth. Gradually it dawned upon the two captors it was they, as ones bound to the world, who were talking to a free man. Could they openly speak their minds and retain their lofty positions? Were they not caught in the ever-tangling web of politics, corruption and deceit?
But what truly galled the pair was the Slave knowing this. Neither could escape the feeling of hot coals incessantly burning their souls. The first instinct was to kill him. But then the Slave would live forever in victory. No, they must defeat him with words first, to prove that no man may be uncorrupt in this world. The general and the lady exchanged glances in communication of this.
The commander tried a new tactic. "And what if you were made Roman? What then of our corruption?"
"I graciously accept your offer. It is most kind."
Trapped. Certainly Crassus had the power to do it, but with what public justification? What had a mere slave done to earn the prestige of citizenship? These questions the general could not answer and his all important reputation would be damaged in the Senate. Damn this little man!
"I get it," maneuvered the lady. "The minute you get a chance at Roman power you jump all over it. You're no better than the rest of us!" The pair both prayed he'd take the bait and have their burning coals removed.
"With freedom I would speak my peace as any free man should. As I'm sure you do. I know what the human desire is: and that is to be free. One can never be free while enslaving another. Releasing me is born of your wisdom. I bear no grudge for weaknesses we all share."
The captive pair were as ones swayed by beautiful music to soothe the savage beast. To free the slave would be like pulling a long-festering thorn from their sides. Oh, how they ached to do it! No, don't! Be strong! Be strong! Don't give in to what you want! And humiliation won the day, the brave Roman Centurion and the proud, superior aristocrat refused to give in, weak to the end. The glowing coals burning and burning and burning...
The next day the Slave was killed "in an immediate fashion". While the freeing of a slave might be questioned, the killing of one was not. But the couple's failure lived on, mocking them for their refusal, shaming them as it caged them. They succumbed to whoredom, begging for degradation, asking to literally be spat upon by their fellow beasts who were all too happy to comply. Crassus tried saving himself on the battlefield, taking increasingly risky chances until finally he was defeated and killed at the Battle of Carrhae. The aristocrat lady's face turned fey and bizarre, her eyes arching as if in permanent terror. As her beauty passed, she drowned in despondancy and found herself hung by her own hand.
In the great invincible rule of the Roman empire, no one did as one pleased. And thus her heart became hollow and her soul emptied of all treasures.
***
In the year that came be known as 71 B.C. a slave was buried with no marker, his given name long forgotten: Gandhi.
From the anthology: The Many Lives of Mahatma Gandhi
Maybe it's me delivery, but my pick-up lines at bars just ain't working for me. I see me a long pair of stems and I says to her, "Boy, I'd sure love to rape them on a regular basis!" Then she goes off and slaps me! You don't want to meet Mr. Woody? Or suppose she got her a real nice ass. "Hey, honey, I'd sure love to hump that rump! Don't bend over for the cocktail napkin!" Then they get all self-righteous like they on Oprah or something. It doesn't even help when I try to smooth it over. "Hey, it's not really sex. I just want to see that look on your face!" That's usually when I gets me a free drink - dripping off my face.
Am I missing something here? That last line I got from Richard Pryor speaking right up on stage. Whole audience thought it was big time funny! And that "don't bend over" line gets lots of laughs when I hear people say that too. But like I said, it must be way I is sayin' it. Oh, I know when I hear them lines they talking about prison rape, but ain't all rape funny? Is there some sort of rule nobody's telling me? Maybe I should try, "Hi, honey, I'd sure like to rape you in prison!" Yeah, that should work.
Now I know there are some touchy-feely, pussy-ass liberals out there calling me insensitive and shit, but guess what? I got the Attorney General of the United States on my side! That's right, a real life authority figure! And his boss is that commie lefty Obama-man so don't lecture me on no right-wing conspiritols! For once a Democrap gets it right! He thinks ya'll are just as full of shit as I do. I'm tough on crime!
I got a log you can hug!
Seems back in 2003 they passed this dumbass law saying some group of know-it-alls needed to get together and decide if prison rape was a bad thing or not. Hell, I coulda done told them right off! But six years later these high faluting perfessers or whatever come and say yeah, that rapin' is bad. Yup, had me shakin' my head too. Hey, morons, they in prison for a reason! Then they spout off how about these "reforms" gotta happen by last June and even pass a law sayin' so!
But my boy Eric has got my back! He says to them Congressers with a straight face how he has "regret" he can't put no reforms in but, hey guys, he's working fast as he can - hahahaha! You tell 'em Eric! They need to go back to their ivory towers and coddle some prisoners. Them prisoners may not all be guilty, be they all sure does deserved to be raped. Otherwise they just want to go right back in for the easy life. Hello! It's not supposed to be fun, folks!
Best part is he got them pussy liberals all riled up. They figure there's only about 60,000 rapes a year - but that's not real rapin' anyway. What? You gonna give them counseling or something? I read once how a lowlife here in Texas got raped and went whining to a prison guard, but that guard just laughed in his face - just like he should! Thank God for Texas and real justice! I hope he told him, "Don't bend over for the soap!" Maybe I should get me a prison guard to come to the bar with me so he show me how to say it funny like.
I really want to hear 'bout you bein' raped!
But anyways this one guy says Eric holdin' out like he is "is asking for time so that another 60,000 can be raped." Hell, yeah! You so worried you can go give them murderers and rapists a hug. Me? I want justice! Listen to this hear high-minded talk:
Hey, lady, they're PRISONERS ya moron! They ain't got no dignity comin' to 'em! Am I the only what got any sense? Even some fake Christians want to get in on the act:
These nuts actually want to spend money to stop the rapin'! What fer? That's the craziest thing I ever heard of! I'm like the last person what got any common sense! How you gonna train them guards not to laugh? It just ain't human to ask them not to be like that. These reformers are just making trouble and actin' like animals! But funny part is when I hear them right-thinkin' lefties saying, "Get off Obama's back! He can't fix everything at once!" I'm right there with ya, pal! Down with troublemakers! Up with rapin'!
But until I get all this rapin' stuff like totally figured out, guess I'll just have to go back to my old line: "You sure got some purty lips!"
The last two years had been tough, really tough. Pushed to the brink of darkness, to stare into the abyss of bad karma, had scared the living daylights out of her. Two years that aged her like ten. Like a speeding bullet of pain and death whizzing perilously by, she dodged the day of judgement. She had not known if her present day of breath was even to be.
Greed like a dark virus had infested the land and she waited on pins and needles to hear both the prognosis - and worse - the cure. She and her banking husband were dependent on the greed to maintain not only a luxuriously accustomed life but also the priceless approval it purchased. Bound and helpless in desire to keep riding the wave of false fortune, they never bothered to learn to swim were the wave to finally come crashing down.
So please, dear Lord, don't let the wave crash. I promise I'll learn to swim. This time I mean it. I've never been so scared in my life!
Unfortunately, greed was made to live another day - upping the inevitable price - buying her time to rot, as was her way. Over the years she had molted, from a butterfly to a colorless moth. She told herself it was OK, she still had her back pocket love to bail her out, her secret ace in the hole. This was her get-out-of-jail-free card to play, to bring back all the colors she'd lost. And now, having narrowly missed the whistling bullet of doom, she dreamed of her Maker's love once more.
No, no! Only go UP!
"He said I was his Fantasy Girl." She surprised herself, still blushing even after all these years. By now his love had become a whitewashed myth. "He wrote a book for me. In the end he said it was all about reaching out for me and my love." She cocked her head. "It was..." Emotion interrupted her. Had she screwed up her life as badly as she suddenly realized?
"He sounds like a dream," confirmed her friend. "I wonder what happened to him. You know, if he really needs you..."
No! He couldn't have needed me! Maybe wanted, but not needed. I was needed in my marriage. He ended up...oh, my...if he's alone, dreaming of me...what have I done? Has my whole life been a fraud? Is that what I'm to find on judgement day? That's just too horrible to face!
"Who knows about these things. I was married. You never really know what someone really feels." But you do know. "What can I do about it now, right?"
"What do you think would happen if you called him?" Her friend had been strong for her, saying words she dare not utter.
"Oh, I couldn't do that! Could I?" Please talk me into it!
"Of course you can! He might be living every day for that phone call. Maybe you'd change his life!" Her friend played her role well.
"Don't be silly! He's probably long forgotten me."
"You never forget a Fantasy Girl, the girl of your dreams. A girl you wrote a book about! Come on, girl, you know I'm right!"
Yes! Yes! Please let it be true! God let me slide on the greed - something I thought would never happen - so maybe He saved me for my back pocket love. After all, I promised to learn to swim! Time to cash in my ticket?
Her girlfriend continued: "Let's call him! You only live once! It might change your life too!"
Yes, it might end it. I might not really have anything left in my back pocket after all. But she’d had been gifted this time, this window of opportunity, and deep in her heart she knew one day that window would close for good and she'd be left with nothing but her lies and selfish religion; back to the gaping abyss that nearly swallowed her alive. Anything was better than that.
"Oh, I don't know..." She was talking herself into it and her friend let her. "I mean, what would I say? I'd just make a fool of myself."
"He sent you a whole book! Did you say anything then? Think how he felt about that."
"He didn't expect me to respond. He knew..." He knew what? That I was living a lie. I can't let anyone know that. Not even God. Most of all God! But this is the time to do something different. And dare I say it even to the wind? I think he still wants me. We were two kindred spirits. We completed each other. We just could never be.
Her silence was too long. Maybe she was changing her mind. "Look, just say what ya want. Time for calling is only going to get worse. Let's do it right now!" Her friend was a romantic, wanting to see a storybook ending in real life.
"Now!?" Can I please? "No, not now! I've got things to do!"
"Like what? You said you know what city he lives in - "
" - maybe he's moved - "
"So let's track him down once and for all. Time to make a move, girl! What's it going to hurt?"
My eternal heart, that's what."Well, if you think so..."
"I do!"
Her heart pounded with an ancient electricity. Yes, this is the right thing to do! When was the last time I felt this excited? Oh, if only all life could be like this! He hadn't moved, they found out. His number was listed, no obstacle remained but her pulsing fear. Shit!
"I can't believe I'm doing this!" She laced her words with doubt but her feelings wanted to cry out, thanking the gods for making this happen. Life was love with me, he said. I must honor that! This will even the books for keeping him in my back pocket for all this time. Oh my God! It's ringing! Maybe he won't be home! Please don't/do be!
"Hello." He sounds dead. Because he needed me and never had me? No, I'm imagining things. Could just be a bad day at work or something. A thousand things, but not a useless existence without me? Oh hush, listen to yourself. He might have ten girlfriends. That wouldn't add up, though...
"Hello??" Answer before it's too late!
"Hello? Is this Harry?" What a stupid thing to say! But I gotta make sure, don't I? Can't spill my guts out to just anybody. It's him. I can feel it! I feel so alive!
"Who's this?"
"It's me, Debby. I...wanted to call." Lamers! I'm talking like I'm back in high school.
"Debby? Really?" He doesn't hate me! "I can't believe this! You drunk or something?"
He's still the same, got that sharp wit. I don't want to get cut by it! It may never heal. Is he actually saying I shouldn’t have called? I must keep a positive mental attitude. "No, " she winced. "I was thinking about you...I wanted to talk." That's better. More honest. This is so hard - but so right.
"Talk? Aren't you still married with two kids?"
Damn him! This is no time for facts! He's talking like one of those reforming liberals. "Yes, but...it's OK. I'm alone. We can talk all we want." Weak! It's like you need permission to talk. He won't go for that.
He chuckled softly. "You're not my friend. Why'd I want to hang out with your whored-out ass?"
She froze in immortal terror. You fool! You big-headed fool! You took him for granted. And you're nothing now. Nothing anyone would want. Now he knows I have no colors, I'm not what I used to be. Oh, you idiot! How could you have showed yourself like this? The one thing I swore I'd never do. And he's right. We should be friends first, like we were back when we dreamed in each other's eyes. What's going to happen to me now?
The sound of the disgusted dial tone made her feel as if she was spinning end over end through outer space untethered from all she held dear. Wasted. My whole life's been wasted. Can't be! Don't let them know. You've got children.
"What's he saying? Tell me!"
How do I hide this, the lowest moment of my life? I had chance after chance over the years to break free. There's no forgiving me now. Not after this. Then she fainted.
He stared at the recently disconnected phone. What an asshole to call me like that! Like I'm her private toy. Was a time that phone call would have saved my life. But I'm nothing now anyway, no life left in me, the colors all drained out. I thought we were a love story for the ages. How can I escape the black abyss now?
The Ninja arrived at his destination on foot. His movements effortless, slipping through the air as a leaf blown by the wind. And whoever notices a blowing leaf? It made it no easier he walked the streets of noisy Westerners with their lazy eyes and self-absorbed conversations, for even they could have a Moment of Awareness - and that was dangerous. The Ninja didn't like the soft glow of the manufactured veneer; he recognized this neighborhood of young professionals same as anywhere in the world. Its inhabitants always had their eyes on the future, for the future was theirs.
Except for one - the one for whom he searched.
The bored, drifting leaf passed by its intended observation of the tony redwood condos but even he felt an inner disturbance when he first caught glimpse of the Japanese banner flapping in the wind, emblazoned with the Fūrin Kazan of the ancient Takeda clan that no longer existed. A storm was coming, the sky grey and angry, announcing its impending wrath with slapping gusts and whipping winds. It was in these twilight times when everyone else scurried in hasty evasion did the Ninja find invisibility most easily attained. Most of his kills had been committed during storms.
But seeing the banner had changed everything. The wind no longer an ally but a spy. A wind from centuries past breathing life to this warrior's creed the flag proudly bore: "Swift as the Wind, Silent as a Forest, Fierce as Fire, Immovable as a Mountain." The Ninja sensed the kami spirit in the swift-moving air, swift as the glorious Takeda cavalry who rode in the notorious Era of Warring States when the central government had collapsed, with decades of ensuing warfare in the struggle for power. But why? How did a kami come to breathe life into this banner of a barbarian Westerner in a barbarian country? A country that didn't even exist at the time of the Takeda.
But then...it made sense. Naturally his target would have a Japanese connection for his removal to be necessary. Yes, he could see it now. The Westerner was not in accordance with Japanese purity, a floating weed upon the water blocking the intended path of the ripples of greater destiny. Now the Ninja hated the man and his deed sanctioned as an act of sacrament, of maintaining Japanese order and wa. Order, always order. He liked these answers, quelling the mental ricochets the first sight of the banner had shot out. And yet...
Reconnaissance was the trickiest part of any assignment, where he took the greatest chances - so to minimize the chances later on. Most likely an alarm would sound after 30 or 60 seconds but that was a lifetime to the Ninja, allowing him to absorb his target with thousands of sensitive antenna gathering information at the speed of light. Once completed, the Ninja had an insurmountable edge of inside intelligence - even if the tripped alarm gave warning of the impending doom to his target. But what did that matter when he cannot be stopped?
The Ninja entered the property with his mind blank, walking passed the security gate after a tightly skirted woman as if he had done so a thousand times before. He picked the lock and entered when the beeping control panel of the alarm started the countdown. A katana! But not sharpened. A warlord's helmet. A deep green silk kimono with blood red lining lay carelessly draped over a chair. A simple wooden flute. High end electronics. A sense of Zen and sanctuary. Time!
***
The Gaijin got the call on his cell phone alerting him to the alarm. He rushed home from the office to find nothing disturbed, even his deadbolt still locked. Damn inconvenience, he muttered in his mind. Nothing was moved or altered in any way - but then he noticed the helmet. The helmet had been picked up by chance - or so he thought at the time. The two were drawn to one another, connected across the ages in present re-unification. And he knew at that moment the helmet had entered someone's consciousness for it was the treasure he most wished to share.
But no invitation could be made for its appreciation. The Gaijin never spoke of the imagery in his flashing dreams; watching Japanese films, struck by grassy hilltops and outposts along the eternal Tokaido road resurrecting memories as real as any object his fleshed hands could grasp. To the outside world his Japanese collection bespoke a curious fetish that some mused he took too far in his indulgence. But to him it was a reconnection, putting things back in their place. Order, always order. But an order he no longer needed.
On one hand the Gaijin was happy to have attained another fan of the brass and steel helmet that exposed his soul. How does one share the inexplicable? But he knew it meant danger for someone to have recognized it while in subterfuge. This break-in was a precursor. But why warn him? Why let him know he was in danger at all? Was this a form of Eastern arrogance? Or was he being arrogant in assuming so much? If he'd had his way, above all else he yearned to speak with the man who absorbed his helmet in precious awareness. He wanted to talk of the olden days so close to his heart when banners such as the one on his balcony flew in living anger.
***
As the Ninja departed, he became nothing once more. He did not try to be anything or not try to be anything. There was simply nothing to notice. Even he held no interest in himself, the helpless leaf blown back down the street. But he knew he was holding his breath against the pounding questions breeching the gateway to his mind's castle. He hurried as quickly as he could to unleash the torment where human eyes never bothered. But the Ninja knew even that was not enough to keep from disrupting the cosmic web that connects all living spirits. But he had a job to do and risks are part of the pact he lived by.
An unsharpened sword? Kuso! A man not worthy of any blade! A man of dishonor and disrespect. Against all codes is this gaijin! He must die. Even if I were not paid he must die. And to add insult he displays an Oda helmet! Ruthless and cunning, the great Oda would stomp this cockroach like the dirty bug he is. Oh yes, this worm must be squashed and I think of all my killings in this one I'll be the most artful. I'll write a death poem, committing myself fully. I'll create terror that even a barbarian can understand and before he dies he'll learn the true meaning of bushido. Hai!
A Western assassin spends his time learning the outside of a job, tracking the physical. But the Eastern assassin trains from within, meditating on the right time and place, allowing the answer to arrive in doubtless vision. The act must be done in perfect harmony. The more harmonious, knew the Ninja, the greater the art and the fewer the clues. For what clues exist when all is in harmony and nothing odd protrudes for the eye to see? Of course, a knowing eye could notice the harmony, realize it's not an accident, and find a clue in that. But most plodding detectives chalked it up to bad luck.
A Zen rock garden...its wavy lines in conjunction with the immovable boulders...neither resisting nor giving way...a place of purity
The Gaijin smirked. "Maybe it's Itikawa!" he laughed. "He's sent a ninja to assassinate me! That's who went through my house." The more he thought about it, the more it tickled him. Imagine getting Iti's goat so badly! To have such power over one's enemy is sweet indeed. Even hate can be turned into the strings of a puppet. The Gaijin never knew what might pop into his head when he traveled to the zen garden of his mind, but rarely did it disappoint.
The Ninja also saw clearly the garden as his eyes closed in search for the perfect moment of opportunity...when the tides of his target's awareness would be at his lowest...all the imagery of the condo sorted itself into psychological pieces, a profile emerging...I must put away my prejudices to obtain absolute clarity - and I dearly want clarity for this one!...but why is it a clouding fog stubbornly lingers in one corner...that could be my own doom in that fog...or wait, it could be...
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