Gabriel Returns

                Since my myopic encounter with Gabriel I only work in the garden during the early morning hours when it’s cooler, often starting before the sun peeps over Twin Peaks, the high mountain directly east.  If there is a breeze sometimes I wage war on the weeds until noon .  On occasion I will work in the late evening just before the sun drops behind the Oquirrh Mountains to the west.  But generally speaking I’ve had it by 4pm, I’m in bed with a good book by 7:30pm and fast asleep by 9.

                I’m comfortable with my routine and become annoyed when it’s interrupted, how annoyed depends upon what I’m doing at the time and the nature of the annoyance.  While at work, whether chopping away with a hoe or cultivating behind the tiller my mind is working also, and not necessary on the task at hand.  The more routine the procedure the more my mind wanders – and during my rest breaks, I find my mind rehearsing that surreal encounter with Gabriel – especially when resting on that old metal lawn chair located at the southwest corner of the upper garden, where Gabriel appeared.

                Yesterday as the cogs and wheels in my brain churned away I kept coming back to the same conclusion.  Gabriel was a hallucination; there could be no other rational explanation.  I took pride in the belief that I was a practical, down-to-earth, agnostic guy who only trusted in what was natural, rebuffing the supernatural.   But in Gabriel’s case my audio and visual senses perceived a talking, philosophical fish that swam through the air.  It had to be a quirk of the mind brought on by stress and the hot sun.  But it seemed so real – and the conversation was respectfully bilateral and intellectual, in other words, meaningful, lacking the bizarre extraordinariness of a dream. 

                As the days passed I thought that the intensity of the strange encounter would begin to fade and eventually disappear from my memory but if anything, the opposite occurred.  I was obsessed.  That damned fish had made too much of an impression and it was irritating me.  I had to try and understand what had happened. 

                I turned to the Internet and the first word I punched into Google was “schizophrenia.”  I was somewhat familiar with schizophrenia from  psychology classes at college, however  I wanted to go over the symptoms.  To my  relief I didn’t fit the profile.  I was rational in every respect except for Gabriel.

                I was certain the source of my hallucination was the mind.  But what was the cause?  I attempted to approach the conundrum by the induction method as opposed to the deduction method  in which I was well experienced.   In fact, it was my past experience as an investigator of facts that made my hallucination more troublesome and embarrassing.  Therefore, instead of concluding Gabriel was a figment of my imagination and proceed to prove it, I thought I would approach it from the position of an enigma or anomaly and see where it took me. 

                I was not prepared for the journey for after I had eliminated all the scientific origins of my enigmatic …. disorder … whatever, what was left was the metaphysical  - the mystical, spiritual and supernatural.  I didn’t want to go there because I was  a confirmed non believer.  In fact, ever sense my misadventure with Mormonism I had devoted much of my cognitive energy towards muckraking and iconoclasm.  I had successfully debunked the spiritual absurdities of Mormon potentates, exposing deception upon deception for personal gain.  Religion, I concluded, was just another business merchandising promises and a glorious afterlife.  It was all illusion.  And now, if I continued to dig and probe, I must enter that incorporeal realm called fantasy. 

                I refused to plunge.  If I did I would surely go mad.  I pondered going to a psychiatrist, but quickly discarded the thought.  This was something I could handle myself.  As it happened, I was sitting in that old metal lawn chair, brooding over my dilemma when I distinctly heard the words, “Can I help?”

                The voice was unmistakable.  I would have recognized that baritone voice in the middle of a gaggle of rioting, screaming Muslims.  Looking up, there was Gabriel in all his panoramic glory, not five feet away, treading air. 

                This time I was not so startled, my mind not so muddled, as I pondered his remark, “Can I help?”  Actually, I was glad to see the damned fish but I wasn’t going to admit it.  Of course he could help, at least I hoped he could help.  But how could he help?  I was getting along just fine before he abruptly popped into my life.  It didn’t take a PhD in psychology to conclude that this brainy fish was anchored to my problem.  And then it dawned on me, he was probably the only one who could help.

                “All I want is the truth.,” I blurted.  “What is happening to me?  Are you real or not?”

                “Truth, John,” the Cutthroat trout began, “… the only concrete truth is time and aging, birth, death and mathematics because its falsifiable – meaning if it can’t be contradicted it must be true. Otherwise, truth is arbitrary.”

                “Your rhetoric is impressive, as usual, but it doesn’t answer my question.  What are you, who are you really?  And what brings you here this time?”

                “I will answer your last question first,” replied the brainy fish while swimming to my left.  “I am here because you willed it, desired it.  Although you may not realize it.  What am I?  I am whatever you would like me to be.   If you would like me to be a seraph, something out of antiquity, then so be it.  But knowing you, you would choose a common straw hat over a jeweled crown.” 

                Here we go again, I thought, more abstract doubletalk.  But I knew he was probably right, it made sense.

                 “Then the answer to my first question,” I retorted, “ must be that you are a product of my imagination.”

                Gab didn’t answer.  I took his silence as a yes, and plowed on.  “Then what is your purpose?  Who are you?  If you are a product of my imagination, what part of me are you and why don’t I recognize you?”

                “I am the manifestation of your inner conflicts and contradictions that are experienced by all thinking humans.”

                It was the unexpected that Gab was good at.  I thought I had it all together, my feet firmly planted in reality.  Could it be that he was referring to my subconscious.  Had I been so confident in my materialism that I had suppressed those inner feelings, the unresolved conflicts of “self.”  Impossible, I told myself for I doubted the existence of self, a spirit or something separate and eternal from the body.  The self as an autonomous entity was an illusion and nothing more than a byproduct of the phenomenon of consciousness. 

                Apparently reading my mind, Gab said, “it’s called dualism, body and self, a conception that predates Christianity.  The ancients thought that all reality was both spirit and material.  There are many humans who still think that way. ”

                I wasn’t sure I liked the direction Gab was taking our conversation.  The brainy fish was implying that there was reality in irreality.  I had heard that philosophy before, that the real reality was the spiritual and what we perceived as material, or reality was actually an illusion. I decided to change the subject.

                “Why a fish, why appear as a fish … as opposed to … say, a muskrat, or camel?

                “What possible intellectual credibility would a rat or camel have?  A fish on the other hand, to the Celtics, the fish, primarily my cousin the salmon, symbolized wisdom, knowledge, inspiration and prophecy.  In Greco-Roman mythology the fish symbolized change and transformation.  To the Pagans the fish represented feminine fertility, although I am male, because you are male.  In China the fish symbolizes unity and fidelity.  The Buddhists view the fish as freedom and happiness.  And of course the fish is a sacred Christian symbol drawn by two interlocking, concave and convex lines, forming a cross at the tail.  It represents faith and abundance.  Should I go on?”

                 I don’t know why but I turned my head away from Gab as if to ignore him but he swam so that he was facing me.  I turned away again.  Once again Gab swam and positioned himself so I couldn’t ignore him.  If he was some kind of talking, subconscious alter ego he was determined to have his say. 

                “Remember the book by the geneticist, Dean Hamer,  The God Gene?”

                I nodded that I did.

                “Remember how he hypothesized that the brain was divided into a rational and irrational or spiritual side?  The role of the spiritual half of the brain was to make some sense of that which the rational side found problematic?  Well I am what has been locked up in your irrational brain.  I have escaped forcing you to face what has been passed along memeticly generation upon generation, the reality of irreality.”

                  After a few seconds of pondering I said, “Then you are a paradox, an oxymoron, a bundle of contradictions, both imagination and reality.”

                “I represent the irrational that can be converted to peace of mind.  Reality is stressful – a path littered with stumbling blocks.  Reality means responsibility – dealing with the numerous foibles indigenous to your species – in other words, a preponderance of inherent behavioral weaknesses like competition, aggression, lust, envy, murder, rape …..    Need I continue?  What is history but a perpetual conflict of wars between the haves and have nots – the weak contending against the strong, the strong suppressing the weak – disease, famine, floods, earthquakes, predators, parasites…  Reality is a scary place.  The irrational is a place of refuge, a way to overcome the insurmountable, a means of temporary escapism. ”

                I noticed the back and forth motion of Gab’s tail becoming more intense although he stayed in one place.  His eyes took on a mystical sparkle.  I discerned it symbolized that the brainy fish was on a roll – caught up in expatiating a steady stream of irrational, but sensible wisdom.  This must be his mission, but how could it be both irrational and sensible?  

                “Before Christianity adopted from pagans dualism and adopted the idea of a man-god or son of god that died for man’s sins and then was resurrected, belief in the supernatural as a solution to the unknown was well established.  Research the exploits and mission of Zalmoxis, Romulus, and Osiris if you don’t believe me.  They are very similar to Jesus Christ.  Often the more absurd the myth the more it’s believed, especially if it requires inordinate restraints, sacrifice and martyrdom.  Take Islam for example.  It’s got everything – prophets, esoteric scripture, angels, intergalactic travel, infallibility, blood oaths, the absolute truth, you name it – and oh yes, an ineffable, all powerful god called Allah that instructs his minions to either convert or destroy non believers.”

                Gab did a figure eight.  I gathered that that was another way of expressing excitement.   

                “It seems you humans can’t get away from religion, even when talking economics and politics.  Somehow religion manages to creep into the proposition.”  Gab did another figure eight.  “Carl Marx said that religion was the opium of the people.  He was right.  Religion is a universal form of escapism, of getting around reality and the responsibility that goes with it.  Place your body and soul in the hands of your prophet, pope or pastor.  Pick a religion and submit, it doesn’t matter which one – they all export, import and merchandise absurdities.  Once again, how about Islam, it offers a panoply of hate, deception, austerity – whatever turns you on.  But it doesn’t have to be a religion.  You can get a similar opiate peace of mind from communism, socialism, fascism, nationalism, Gnosticism, atheism.  There are all kinds of isms , pantheism, stoicism, sophism  that delve into man conjured beliefs emanating out of irrationality.”

                “Aren’t you carrying this a little far?” I interrupted. 

                “Not at all.  John, why don’t you just submit and submerge into  some appropriate irrationality and let the material world flit away.  I know it has not been your style but there are thousands of gurus, prophets, priests, soothsayers, fortune tellers, astrologers, psychics, philosophers and oracles out there that would be glad to take over your mind and soul.  All you would have to do is obey.”

                “Never happen,” I chortled, “you know that.  I have spent the last fifteen years muckraking those phony bastards.”

                “True, but you don’t have to join a religious cult.   The philosophical world view that the spiritual is more real than the material seems to serve many humans quite well.  This belief system like Socrates is as old as the hills.  The contention is that the material world, like your garden, is theater, an illusion of sorts and that the real reality is the universal, spiritual intelligence that created the illusion.  The people you interact with, and people you see on the television newscasts are “extras,” there to give your theater the illusion of reality.  The famines, devastation from natural disasters, acts of terrorism – nothing more than a story.  Or, you might prefer the Mormon version of theater.  The world you see and live in as a mortal is but a testing ground to see how you deal with good and evil.  How you fair will determine your status in the next life which is the real reality. ”

                “But we can’t see, hear or feel the spiritual,” I interjected.  “You mentioned a story, the Mormon version of spirit and reality, it is but a story told by a man claiming to be a prophet.  To me, a story that transcends natural law, or reality is a fairy tale.” 

                “That’s the beauty of it,” the brainy fish replied.  “Have you ever experienced de-ja vu, the illusion of remembering or having experienced  scenes and events  before, even though you are experiencing them for the first time?”

                I had to admit that I had.

                “Well, there is a de-ja vu brand of philosophy that embraces the concept of predestination,” Gab’s two front fins flapped excitedly.  “It is a doctrine that teaches that certain people were foreordained to accomplish some mission.  There are many people who become political and religious leaders, guru types, philosophers, prophets and oracles who believe they were foreordained to ……”

                “Yeah, I know, to exercise dominion over others.  I’ve met a few and they usually turn out to be narcissists.  They are so in love with themselves that they think they are infallible.   Adolf Hitler was a narcissist.” 

                “Now you’re being sarcastic,” prompted Gab.  “Hitler represents the extreme.  There are some very productive narcissists with huge followings, right here in Zion, and in your nation’s capital.”

                “Do we have one in the White House?”  I couldn’t resist the remark. 

                Gab did a slow figure eight, then shaking his right fin at me said, “John, you’ve got a mischievous streak.”

                “I know.  It comes from the irrational side of my brain.  The Devil made me say it.”

                “Now you’re making fun of a very serious subject.  Have you ever stopped to ponder how important myth is to the mental well being of the human race?  Take for example the fiction capital of the world, Hollywood, California.  The picture shows they produce are illusions, the movie theater is a place to escape for an hour or two from the stress that comes with reality.  And what are the most popular and best money-making movies?  Those that exploit the supernatural like the Harry Potter movies and the super hero movies like Ironman and Spiderman.  People need an occasional escape from reality.  It’s like sleep, it gives the brain a rest and rejuvenates the mind.  A vivid imagination makes for a healthy mind.  Many of man’s important scientific creations were first imagined before they were materialized.  It was playing on that idea that helped stimulate the notion of spirit versus matter.”

                “What about flying saucers?”  the philosophical Cutthroat trout asked.  “Men from outer space can be a substitute for a god.  It would surprise you the people worldwide that believe you humans were planted here on earth and cultivated like a bee hive.  Look up on the Internet and read the Babylonian epic about Gilgamesh, recorded on clay tablets.  Gilgamesh may very well have been the prototype of all the demigods and supernatural heroes worshiped by the Egyptians, Greeks and Romans.   And then there is reincarnation or “multiple mortal probation,” – you come and go, live and die until you get it right before you can ascend to the heavens.   Depending upon how you manage this life you might come back as a shark, or scorpion.  Don’t you see John, the scope and breadth of imagination?  You can go anywhere, do anything and be anything.  When you get right down to it all theology, including Christianity is nothing more than “reconstructive mythology.”  All you need to make it work is a penchant for sophisticated jargon and “technomorphic metaphors.”

                By now I felt I was beginning to understand.  Imagination is a special kind of reality, so unique that, like consciousness, it is hard to find words to describe it.  Nevertheless, although our material self can’t see or touch it, our irrational mind can see it, in a sense, blueprint it, and our rational mind can form it, that is, materialize it.  (The Neanderthal Man first imagined an ax, then with his hands he fashioned what he imagined out of a stone, stick and sinew.)

                The imagination is a function of the creative force that is ubiquitous.  It is not a gift from god, but god is a gift of the imagination.  Nor is imagination a gift of nature, but a product of nature like consciousness which evolved out of ancient man’s struggle for survival. 

                My mind began to flood with metaphysical elucidations.  I could not deny that the imagination, what pie-in-the-sky philosophers and clerics call spirituality, is part of the human condition.  Although it is often irrational and absurd, it has a place in the human condition.  What I apparently needed to do was separate the predator or criminal, the miscreant who exploits the spiritual, from the human propensity to seek solace in fictional metaphors induced by the stress associated with reality.

                A cool breeze wafted in from the northwest.  The leaves in the trees began to shimmer.  A pair of mourning doves  swooped down and around the Chinese Elms.  A pair of Gamble quail followed by seven little chicks scurried from the raspberry bushes, under the fence and into the alfalfa field.  A second later Buddy trotted up and plopped his chin in my lap.  My little farm was an oasis surrounded by encroaching urbanization, a place of exercise, rest and refuge from the hustle and bustle of a fusillade of automobiles racings  from one red light to the next - I can hear the screeching in the distance.  This was my world, the only reality I wanted.  A private place where I can garden, rest, and think.

                While petting Buddy I looked up at Gab.  “I know who you are now, and what you are – and I thank you for coming.”

                “Then who am I?”

                “You are a  character in a book.”

                I blinked my eyes and like magic Gabriel was gone.  Then I told myself, “Don’t forget to pick the string beans before going in.