The Last Word On MV Part 3 Of 3

Some Fools In The Desert
With Nothing Else To Do
So Scared Of The Dark
They Invented Me And They Invented You
And Other Fools Keep It All Going
And Growing

Significance Of The Voice Of MV a.k.a. Satan

From Wikipedia: Ontology is the philosophical study of the nature of being, existence or reality as such, as well as the basic categories of being and their relations. Traditionally listed as a part of the major branch of philosophy known as metaphysics, ontology deals with questions concerning what entities exist or can be said to exist, and how such entities can be grouped, related within a hierarchy, and subdivided according to similarities and differences. Parmenides was among the first to propose an ontological characterization of the fundamental nature of reality.

In my journal posts, the Devil, in addition to being a metaphor for a higher order of freedom, has also been my creative attempt to give voice to the ~b of ~bb in freedom’s dialectic at the level of b~b~bb (see http://bwinwnbwi.wordpress.com/ for a explanation of the Ontology of b~b~bb) and, as such, “soul” in my story becomes the equivalent of that which connects humans to God. The problem is that what connects God to humans also separates humans from “self” (self as in the implicative affirmative of the not-me-self) and God. Self-consciousness, free will, and choice, however, follow from this separation. Life experience, reason, and significant emotional events influence why we choose what we choose, but our choices, inevitably, fall somewhere in between good and evil, and, if they land in the neighborhood of evil, civilization provides law and order (taboos in pre-modern culture) to counter harm and mayhem. In addition to being the source of self-consciousness and free will, b~b~bb also is the source of meaningful symbol creation, which, in turn, opened the door to the creation of language, myth, religion, art, theoretical knowledge, and the rest of the civilizing processes that we call civilization. This ongoing self-liberation process is embedded in civilization and the aesthetic continuum (immediate sense experience) and it is in the aesthetic continuum where we discover the true meaning of life.

The gorgeous sunset that sometimes swells our eyes to tears is not just a product of the spinning earth; it is also part of the spontaneous, pulsating, emotion that flows from the whole of the aesthetic continuum. Inspiration for the poet, painter, and musician comes not from cerebral musings, but rather from the empowering emotion that inspires life, imagination, and awe. The strength and resolve necessary to create a better world is not found in analysis and calculation, but rather in the empowering emotion that calls us to love, beauty and truth. The immediately grasped, emotionally moving ground out of which all things arise–the aesthetic component of our experience–beckons us to seek the impossible, express the unspeakable, and imagine the inconceivable. The ~b of ~bb, at the level of b~b~bb, — or the voice of the Devil in my story, is not the traditional voice of Lucifer, Satan, or the Devil. That voice, the traditional soul-stealing voice of tradition, is rather the imagined product of wandering nomads lost in the desert many millenniums ago, or so says Randy Newman in his Rock Opera Faust,-- and I agree. However, since imagination is itself a product of free will, one could say that the purpose of the imaginary Devil’s voice was/is to admonish consciousness to stay on the “chosen path.” In other words, free will always speaks in two voices, the voice of one’s conscience and the imaginary voice of the Devil. On the other hand, however, the voice of Divinity, when it truly speaks, communicates in the language of Love.

Significance Of The Voice Of MV a.k.a. Satan Part 2 Of 3

And The Lord Said

I Burn Down Your Cities--How Blind You Must Be
I Take From You Your Children And You Say How Blessed Are We
You Must All Be Crazy To Put Your Faith In Me
That's Why I Love Mankind
You Really Need Me
That's Why I Love Mankind



MV’s Change Of Strategy

After a few failed attempts at tying to win the boy over to the dark side, Mephisto changes his strategy as he gets the boy to offer up his soul in exchange for the knowledge (truth) that reality (the universe) weighs in on the side of righteousness and goodness, as opposed to pain and suffering. Below is part of the conversation where MV persuaded the boy to wager his soul in exchange for this knowledge.

Scene: New Orleans One Room Apartment:
“Well here’s the deal: I’ll help you understand what’s ‘real,’” said MV, "and if I succeed I promise you will become free from all scorn and bitterness. You will discover, with my help, how it all fits together, how good and evil are necessarily woven into one reality. To get to that place you must penetrate reality’s nexus, and that my friend is no minor achievement, but together we will triumph. Are you up for the challenge? All that I require for this service is your soul.”

“Say again,” I exclaimed.

“I’m offering you that ‘final realization’ where, by design, pain and suffering become a necessary part of all that is righteous and good,” replied MV.

“No,” I said, “I mean the part about me giving you my soul? Am I missing something here? Have we made some kind of right turn? The word soul is hardly in my vocabulary, but I still don’t like what I’m hearing. This is important. We’re talking about my sanity now, not just a dream!”

“Wait a minute. Think about what you’re saying,” said MV. “Get your head out of the Dark Ages and listen to me. How can giving me your soul be bad when to make that possible bad must become good? In the end, you loose nothing. And anyway, look at what you get in return; I’ll do your bidding. You will have total control.”

“I need to understand what you’re saying,” I said. “When you say bad is good you don’t mean that bad is good relative to different levels of badness, you mean that bad is somehow inherently good. Right?

“Right,” said MV.

“And, if I discover how good and bad are inherently good then and only then, do I give up my soul. Right?

“Yes, that’s right,” replied MV.

“If I agree to this,” I said, “you will do whatever I tell you to do, and you will continue to do so during the entire time that it takes for me to conclude that bad is good. Is that right?”

“We are not talking semantics here,” MV responded, “the rules of language, the rule of non-contradiction, keeps opposites apart. Don’t worry, we are not talking about language we are talking about vision. When you are able to see past the rules of language then you will see also the good and evil connection.”

“I need an answer to my question, thank you,” I said. “As long as I believe bad is not good, I get to keep my soul and I get to tell you to get out of my life?”

“Almost,” MV responded. “You don’t get to bury me. I need to be able to help you along. However, if at anytime you want me to leave just say so, I will go. I will be available if you need me, though. That’s part of the deal!”

“I need to hear it one last time,” I said, “if I am not in agreement that bad is good, then I keep my soul?”

“That is right,” replied MV.

“Then we have a bargain. Where do I sign?”

“Don’t be so archaic, MV responded, “We are adults here. Your word is as good as it gets.”

“Okay, then go,” I said, “Get the hell out of my life. I’ve got to wash this whole affair out of my memory and I don’t need any help from you to get the job done.”

When I woke the next morning, I wasn’t exactly at a hundred percent. At first, I thought I had a nightmare, but on second thought I knew I couldn’t be so lucky. I faced up to the fact that my mental health was deteriorating. My emotions were pulling me in every direction; if MV was the real McCoy and if he could be trusted, then from here on out I would be able to turn my insanity off. But, if I actually believed that, I really would be insane, not to mention I would be giving my soul, -- a soul I never even knew I had, up for grabs. Anyway, illusion or not, making that deal with MV was probably the safest bet I have ever made.

Significance Of The Voice Of MV a.k.a. Satan One Of Three Parts

Riders On The Storm
Into This House We're Born
Into This World We're Thrown
Like A Dog Without A Bone
An Actor Out On Loan



With this post I will try to explain the significance of the dialogue that occurs between my voice and the voice of MV a.k.a. Satan. Actually, my conversations with the devil began early on in the writing of my journals, but, because I deemed them unnecessary for my participation in postaday2011, I deleted them. Yesterday, however, it occurred to me that absent these MV dialogues, my journal entries would require a lot of rewriting so, in future posts, I’ve decided to leave the dialogues in. Consequently, in this and my next two posts I will, hopefully, catch the reader up of the significance of the MV dialogues. These conversations are rooted in my academic readings of Goethe’s Faust, but, except for what follows in the wager between Gabriel and Mephisto, I do not mimic Goethe’s masterpiece, Faust.

The following dialogue is part of a conversation between Archangel Gabriel and Mephisto (Mephistopheles), which was written into the introduction of my road journals.

The Mephisto/Gabriel Wager

Scene: In A Garden Somewhere On High

“I am thinking of a boy. Do you know him?”

“Of course I do. I know what you know, and yes, I know this boy,” answered Mephisto. “Let’s see, as I recall he’s not a cutting edge type fellow: mediocre intelligence, fragile, and a loner. A poor chap; he is of the kind that makes my life a bore. What more can I say?”

“I wouldn’t be so quick to judge if I were you. His heart remains untested,” said Gabriel, “and, he is not satisfied with worldly pleasures. These qualities do not make an easy catch for you. He is a seeker, and is not easily distracted. In fact, I think you might be wrong about him.”

“Such a bold a prediction,” responded Mephisto, “what would you wager to keep him. Surely he is worth something to you. Your words carry such conviction.”

“He is mortal. He will err, but he will also pick himself up and move on,” said Gabriel. “A pure heart will lead him. Go! Have your way with him if you can? Hear me though; if he does not succumb to temptation then your muted silence will be my prize. Your tongue will not be missed. Be off! You spoil the scenery."

“I would gladly go, but let’s be fair, a wager requires something in return,” responded Mephisto. “Surely you jest if you think a soul that is already ripe for the plucking will satisfy the devil’s appetite!”

“What do you propose?” replied Gabriel.

“After I claim his soul, I want to hear trumpets. I want fanfares,” said Mephisto. “I think a seat next to yours would be nice also. After all, without me you would be nothing.”

Glacier Rain Bicycling--MV At His Best

Going To The Sun Road
Glacier National Park
June '72

I was already wet and cold, and peddling in the rain was all I had to
look forward too. I felt terrible. I thought to myself, "Why didn't
those assholes in the Winnebago invite me in? If I could see them, they had to see me, soaking wet, out in the rain." With water spinning off my front tire,
soaking my clothes through my rain-gear, I wanted to be the one sitting
in a motor home, eating donuts, and drinking coffee. And then I
thought, as more travel homes passed me on the highway, "They're all
laughing at me, those people in their warm, dry vehicles are all
laughing at the stupid jerk bicycling in the rain." The wetter I
became, the bitterer I became, and then I heard this voice. "Don't
blame them," it said. I just kept peddling, wondering if I had heard
the voice or just imagined it. After a prolonged moment I said, "Fuck.
Who's blaming whom? Is there somebody blaming somebody? I don't know
anything about blame?"

"Yes you do, you're blaming the motor home people for your misery."

"Fuck", I thought "You were gone. You were gone. Why didn't you stay
gone? I was rid of you and healthy, but now your back."

"Absolutely!" MV responded, "I'm part of you and the best part at
that, but that's old news. It's not good to be separated for long.
After a while you begin to feel out of touch. You know what I mean?
Don't sweat it. Now and again I'll always be checking on you."

"But you left, until now at least."

"That's right," replied MV, "I did as you wished. But, at any time I
can "check in" if I deem it noteworthy. That was part of our bargain,
remember?"

"Yes, I remember," I said, "I remember all too well. I remember
smacking my head in that car accident in L.A., and you sort of just
popped into my head after that. I remember that stupid wager in New
Orleans, where I offered my soul or something like that just to get
you out of my head, and it worked, until now at least. Well, are you
leaving?"

"Your memory's pretty good," said MV. "I'm especially delighted you
remember that part about your soul. You know, I get to keep it as soon
as you find that stuff you're looking for, that stuff that will make
you content, happy, or whatever. Right?

"Yeah, I remember," I said. "I got rid of you, didn't I? It's pretty
easy to give up what doesn't exist anyway. You are leaving, right, or
is something amiss?"

" Don't fuss! My word is as good as gold!" said MV. "You have
absolutely nothing to fear-- or lose--unless you agree to it. I will
go if that's what you want; it's just that I felt you needed some
attention, and that's why I'm here."

"How can you help me when all I want is for you to leave?"

"The knowledge," responded MV, "you want it even if you won't admit it."

"And, before I tell you to fuck off, what knowledge is it that I need?"

Biking Glacier Park No Magic Here

Abandoned Ranger's Cabin
In The Rain Under My Space Blanket
June 12

The biking wasn't bad; the sun was shining and the mountains were
beautiful, even if dark clouds covered their peaks. I was biking along
Lake McDonald in the midst of an incredibly thick forest when it
started to rain. This was not Yellowstone where magical spots could be
found everywhere. No, this was Glacier, where if there was a clearing
it was filled with pointy, jagged rocks. With the rain coming down, I
was intent on finding a place to camp. I wasn't picky; even so, I
still could not find a place to erect my lean-two. When I came to a
boarded up ranger cabin, I took advantage of the situation. I used the
side of the cabin to secure one end of my space blanket and tied the
other ends to a tree and a stump. Underneath the blanket it was dry,
but rain was falling all around me. It was coming off the cabin roof,
making it seem like it was raining twice as hard as it really was. It
was not a pretty sight, but it worked. However, I went to bed wet, and
I woke up wet.

I put in a miserable night and it was still raining in the morning.
Yesterday had been cold (there's still snow on the ground up here),
and today was even colder. Trying not to pander to my misery, I went
about the business of making breakfast. The fire warmed me a little
(I'm getting better at building a rain fire), but before I got around
to eating my biscuits, oatmeal and raisins, two rangers pulled up in
their jeep and made me put out my fire. These guys were obviously
upset that I chose to camp in an undesignated area. They could have
given me a ticket. I guess the sight of a wet bicycler putting out his
breakfast fire in the rain softened them (one of them) up just enough
to let me go. I was told I had to leave, and the obstinate one said in
a mean and gruff voice, "Camp in the campgrounds next time."

My breakfast was already cooked, so I got to eat a hot meal before I
headed off into the rain. Just before I left, a camper pulled in the
driveway of the cabin and parked. I guess it was time for a break
because I watched as the driver, with a hot cup of coffee in his hand,
moved to a table where the other occupants were sitting. I immediately
disliked those people sitting in their travel home. Those lavish
monstrosities were everywhere, people riding in their $50,000 houses
on wheels, "roughing it" throughout the wilderness areas of this
country. When I thought about all the bad weather I had to endure, I
became very angry. Then, with a change of heart, I began to think I
was the ass. After all, I was the one who rode his bike through
pouring rains and freezing temperatures. I subjected myself to this
kind of physical torture. Who's fault was that anyway?

Biking Montana's Flathead Lake

After A Cold Bath In Flathead Lake
June 11

Its been raining all week. The afternoons always end up in
thunderstorms. I can't get a full day of biking in (except for
yesterday when I peddled over a hundred miles). Montana is a lot of up
and down, and its old. Missoula was not a very dazzling city. I wasn't
even disappointed when the University of Montana told me they didn't
need any more custodians. Butte was downright depressing. It took me
seven hours to bike up the mountain that Butte sits upon. When I had
almost reached the top, a trucker going down in the opposite direction
yelled at me (after hitting his horn), "You're almost there. Keep on
truck'in." I just waved my hand. I never did get to the top (on that
day at least). I camped at a rest area. That may not have been the
highest pass I climbed, but it certainly was the hardest.

Because of my route, I was going to be west of Glacier National Park
when I reached the fork in the road that would take me east to
Glacier. I had planned on going to Glacier, but with all the rain, and
now the cold, I was having second thoughts. I was fucking tired, and
Glacier meant more mountain climbing, maybe the worst yet. Besides I
had spent more money than I wanted. I had had it. I decided to by-pass
Glacier and continue west to British Columbia, Canada.

I just finished taking a bath in a cold Flathead Lake. The lake is
located west of Glacier National Park, near the Flathead Indian
Reservation. The lake was large, 180 miles around, and it was very
pretty. Last night I camped in what used to be a horse coral (maybe it
still is). I tied my space blanket to one end of the hitching post,
and secured the other end to the ground. It rained. Tonight, it looks
like a thunderstorm, and I do not yet have shelter. See you later!
I've climbed some high hills, and I'm about to climb a few more!

Just before it rained, and after I reached Kalispell, I met some
people who turned me on to the city park. There were picnic tables
under roofs, and after I found firewood piled next to one of the
barbecue grates beside a picnic table, I knew I was home. The people
with me broke out the wine. Later, their friends showed up with beer.
By 10 p.m., the party was over and the last partygoer ambled home. I
heated up a can of spaghetti, and after eating it I crawled into my
sleeping bag. The next morning I woke to the same rain whose
pitter-patter had lulled me to sleep the night before. I finally left
the shelter around 1 p.m., after a breakfast of hot pea soup and biscuits.

I had an empty, aching feeling in my belly when I left Kalispell. I
wasn't sick; it's just that my decision to pass up Glacier was a
difficult one to make. Kalispell was the natural cut off point for
people who were heading to Glacier. I figured these feelings would
pass, but when I biked into Whitefish, another forty miles north, the
nausea grew worse. The weather had cleared, but once in the mountains
(if I chose to go to the mountains), I knew it would rain and probably
never let up. My body and mind wanted to continue west, yet I couldn't
live with the thought that, "Here I was, thousands of miles from home,
with Glacier National Park twenty miles away (forget about the 150
miles it would take to get back on track), and I was passing up the
opportunity to see it." As far as I was concerned that was blasphemy!
I turned my bike east, at the last possible minute, and took the
highway (the last one) leading to Glacier. My nausea instantly left me.

Awesome Highway Tears--A Love Supreme

Bozeman Restaurant
June 8

It was early afternoon when I finally left Nature's gift to
cleanliness and aching muscles. Biking was great. A lot of it was
downhill. The North Entrance to Yellowstone was absolutely gorgeous.
Shoshone Canyon was on the East Entrance, the Tetons Mountains were
part of the South Entrance, and now, in the north, I was biking
through the Gallatin Mountain Range. There were hardly any cars to
tarnish the fabulous beauty, and, the icing on the cake, so to speak,
was that I was traveling on a newly paved highway. The road was cut
straight through the towering, snowcapped Gallatin Mountains. These
mountains sent chills up and down my spine.

I felt emotions I had never felt before. Whatever it was that I was
feeling, it made me cry. I didn't cry, but I couldn't help it. There I
was, bicycling down the highway in the midst of all the beauty,
weeping as I went. I forced myself to think unpleasant thoughts to
keep from totally breaking down. I was by no means sad. I was very,
very, happy. These highly charged feelings wavered from weak to strong
as I biked down the highway. By the time I came upon a man and his
wife, I felt pretty normal. They motioned for me to come in and see
them. I obliged. They were clearing the lot next to their trailer.

They were about to take a break from digging in the hot sun anyway,
and I guess they figured I needed a break too. The couple was in the
first stage of building a house (up until then I hadn't seen any
houses). After I drank ice tea and ate some of their cheese and
crackers, they gave me their Bozeman, Montana address and told me to
stop over for a shower and a real meal. I thanked them, but I knew I
wouldn't take them up on their offer because their house was east of
where I was traveling and I had a hard time biking in the opposite
direction from where I wanted to go. I was really glad to have made
their acquaintance though, and I would be wise to remember their
hospitality.

Last night it rained, so I took shelter in a large culvert. It was
more of a tunnel than a culvert. It was used for cows to cross from
one pasture to another without trampling in front of unsuspecting
motorists. It worked at keeping the rain off my head too, even if it
did lack in the aesthetic appeal department.

I'm sitting in a little Bozeman restaurant, finishing up my coffee,
donut and journal entry. I just want to end this entry by
acknowledging, once again, that I really enjoyed bicycling in
Yellowstone, especially when it came to camping alone at night. For
this reason, it is quite a bring down to be traveling in the midst of
civilization's fences and private property. I am very eager to get
back to the National Parks where I can continue to co-exist with nature.