THE WATCHERS SCROLL { The Original Version } “Beneath that evening star dome, lead/ Lord Elrond with his people shed/ the woes of a war torn land/ healed by a fulfilled king’s hand.// Aboard their swan-carved ships/ with praises high on ruby lips;/ one - with Halflings dressed in vests/ rewarded for a legendary quest.// Yet some later said by folly of pride/ those brothers fought and lied/ their bonds they broke and took/ all loyalties of oaths forsook.// Shelda`Mar pleaded for we few to come/ aboard Valithnor’s ship, Cirdan’s drum;/ unto those undying lands of hope and grace,/ yet outraged, Vendu`Mar abandon his place.// On faded docks did Vendu`Mar argue/ against his brother’s command he drew/ harsh words like a bitter sword that bites,/ though Shelda`Mar in sorrow took flight.// The wizard Gan`Mereith admonished us/ to be wary against our growing lust;/ Sal`Gilvan and Veth`Dema barked back/ with their own words of black.// We stayed like an anointed remnant,/ who saw it our goal to rule as imminent,/ teaching a new lore to lesser men/ with a diverse tongue, Sinenya I penned.// Like unto Sindar was Sinenya made/ with new characters and words I laid;/ letters designed for new purposes crafted/ for initiated secretes were they drafted.// For the greed of some soon railed apparent/ as our original cravings became too variant;/ instead of being counselors to students in need/ many wayward misguidings did breed.// Celegreth of the elven Crystal Caves,/ and Kwandol the dwarven mason, made;/ a Great Hall like greeting hands/ domed six hundred years, still stands.// Close to the bay a watchtower stood/ with a bell’s tolling alarm it would;/ chime forth the hours of the Great Hall/ for secret Brothers to heed its call.// In that kingdom’s darkened hall we met/ among fireside rituals fussed and fret;/ knowing inwardly we hoped against hope,/ preaching failed expectations, we groped.// High in that Watchtower’s nest/ its bell replaced we thought best;/ with a pyre set eternally aflame,/ for others to return without shame.// On the day the oil-soaked wood was lit,/ by Fay`Symodare’s death all were hit;/ the shadow that fulfilled Mereith’s woe,/ the bane of mortal man became our snow.// From his ashes we gathered a portion/ entombed in an urn with grave distinction the rest we scattered upon the sea/ and swore our own would mix free.// ...
By David DeLaine Snow The Envelope Without being consciously aware of it, Malcom McJones was listening to his favorite music on the radio too loud, and weaving in and out of traffic like a mad man. Only after cutting over to exit the freeway did he even glance into the rear view mirror and noticed a three car pile-up in his wake. Brushing it off as their poor driving skills, Malcom approached the signal light’s intersection, relieved the accident had not slowed him down. All he wanted to do was get as far away from work as quickly as possible to begin his lousy one week vacation. His second week had been denied. Thoughts whirled is his rock-n-roll pounding mind of how to downsize his plans. Instead of going out-of-town to visit some old friends, he would just stay home and play the lazy bum all week. Actually, shampooing the carpet, reorganizing his seven hundred volume-book collection, moving furniture and playing computer games made the week fly by faster than he wanted it to. Realizing he only had one day left, Malcom decided to make it last by stretching it out doing nothing; starting with sleeping in late. His plans went awry once again as he heard a thunderous noise, then a knock at his front door. His bedside clock blared in red numerals that for God’s Sake it was only 6:40 A.M. After stubbing his toe on a pile of books that had not yet been replaced to their proper shelf, Malcom managed to unlatch the door’s chain and dead bolt. His neighbor, Jacob Townsend was an early riser. It was Jacob’s smiling, apologetic face that greeted Malcom with an envelope that had been wrongly delivered to his address. Jacob had received some kind of footlocker through the mail, and its dragging must have been the thunderous scrape that woke his neighbor. Only after watching his early-bird neighbor carry the green box into his apartment did Malcom even look at the envelope. It was plain white, and addressed in a cursive handwritten script: “Good Morning Mr. McJones.” Going inside, and locking the door behind him, Malcom tore it open. Inside was a computer web address. Scratching his head and making coffee, Malcom then pecked in the site’s nomenclature on the Google window. A second later the brightly illuminated screen went black displaying a single question and directions: Well, Mr. McJones would you like to win two hundred dollars, free and clear? If so then go to… Malcom recognized the address, it was just two blocks down the street. Thinking, ‘What the heck I’m already awake now,’ he dressed after his first cup of Mountain grown goodness then walked out to get some free cash. The grey skies and sporadic puddles gave away the real thunderous noise that had awakened him during the night - rain storms. Yet the perfectly dry white envelope that stood erect at the base of the Stop sign belied the fact it had been recently placed in its careful upright position. Quickly glancing around, Malcom hoped to catch a glimpse of the secret messenger, but was met by empty parking lots and a deserted golf course. Again the envelope was addressed: “Good Morning Mr. McJones.” He tore it open as he walked back home and discovered the promised $200 in cash along with another web address. Malcom mixed up another potion of black java and hazelnut creamer. The coffee’s delightful aroma waned as he pecked in the new search on his Dell computer. A second later the lime green screen displayed a new question and directions: Good for you Mr. McJones! Now, would you like to collect an easy $500 for a new book shelf? The cursor blinked about as much as Malcom’s staring eyes did. But a thought later revealed he recognized the location of the new address as well. After his third cup of wake-up juice Malcom found himself flying down the freeway. Locating mile marker 494. He pulled over into the emergency lane of the overpass. At the base of the sign, a string was attached to a badly stained white cord with yet another envelope taped to the tail of the cord. Once again he was greeted by name, but this he time read the card on the spot. Along with another web address, was a note that read: “Sorry but the $500 is at the next location, and bring the cord.” Back in his car, Malcom thumbed the address into his Blackberry. As it uploaded a picture, Malcom looked around to see if he could notice anyone waiting for his next move. As the traffic bustled beside his car, and the gas stations and hotels declared their own business, no one appeared to be aware of his small existence on the nearby bridge. With blinker on, he merged back into the flow of traffic heading north. Punching the address into his GPS locator, the coordinates pinpointed the exact spot of an area next to his lakeside apartments. A park. As he pulled into an empty space, Malcom noticed a small hastily-drawn sign in block letters: ‘THIS WAY MR. McJONES.” Curiously, Malcom found himself leaving his car and heading down the sidewalk, then entering the undeveloped woodland. Down the winding pathway’s worn trail Malcom meandered, looking for any sign of another envelope. He had driven by this very park and wooded area a thousand times but had never actually been here before. He did not have any kids to yell their fool heads off in the playground nor a dog to take a crap everywhere. Just when he was about to call it quits, he noticed something white up ahead in a clearing. Just as he arrived, picked up the envelope and read the: “HERE’S YOUR REWARD,” the sound of a thousand clicks rang out. Before he could even investigate the sound, Malcom turned around just long enough to see at least twenty odd heavily armed SWAT members aiming their weapons on him. The police were repeatedly shouting for him to get on the ground. A heart beat later and someone had pounced on him from behind, slapping handcuffs around his wrist, as he suddenly noticed that he lay before a freshly dug grave mound. After his court appointed attorney left his grey jail cell, one of the guards came up to his bared door and reopened it. With squinted hawk-eyes and a shaking head, he announced, “McJones, you got a phone call.” His quick head nod signified that if Malcom did not go now the cell door would be locked again. Down the long hallway of cameras, locked doors, and watchful eyes bearing down on him, Malcom was led to a booth and picked up the resting phone receiver. “Hello?” “Well, Mr. McJones congratulations on receiving your just reward; I guess you won’t be cutting me off in traffic any more - now will you? Cop killer.” * * * * *
I've begun do to some writing. Of all these long years that I've been working on my epic novel, THE WATCHERS REQUIEM, I'm still not finished it as it continues to be in a perpetuate state of editing, and now up to 23 chapters. I've begun a few other short stories, that need finishing: The Institution, Dead Secrets, and The Kettle. I surprised myself by actually completing a story in a single setting: The Envelope. Now to get them all finished and some day published before I die; or they'll only be discarded rubble.
I have for all practical purposess dropped out of being a Freemason. The last two years have been overwhelmingly filled with pain, sorrow, depression, death, and many many life changes. My father passes away April 2, 2008. My wife had a heart attack and quad-bypass, and then her brother passed away Feb 4, 2009. Soon afterwards my wife endured a Stroke and several months of hopitalized rehab with little sucess, and is now back home. My own brother's worsing health may not see him through the winter of this year. Next month my wife is to have dentures, after having lost 15 teeth.
I am doing well, but those around; I can't say the same.
I have not attended Lodge since my .:EA:. Excuses are easy to come by, so here's mine: car repairs at Carmax in Irving, and work schedule; I know - could have phoned in some conversations, but... Well, I have my repaired car back, and work schedule in order. Starting Monday I will make the effort to get the memory work down. Memory work is not my strong point, hence the effort.
A great resource: http://usa.gov
Get the facts straight, not the hipe: http://www.state.gov/documents/organization/27807.pdf
I don't kow what it was like years ago, other than what I've read, but what I have "experienced" in Freemasonry thus far is nothing akin to all the anti-masonry hipe. Misinformation is accepted by those who are not willing to learn first hand for themselves; the truth - that is so easily obtained by the briefest of questions and observations. 2B1ASK1.
To be one ask one. After all my interviews; I returned the phone call, on my caller ID. I was accepted. Thursday evening I am to be initiated as an Entered Apprentice of the Freemasons. Afterwards, some comments of what I felt of the actual experience.
AFTERWORD:
The Secret is - that - personal self improment experiences are to be "experienced" personally. Regardless of how many movies you have watched, or books and articles you've read. If you haven't been there and done it then you'll never get it - is the secret.
Well, I had my last interview yesterday, and am to be mentioned in the Stated Meeting tonight, for my inclusion as a member of the Freemasons. All five of those who I have spoken with and been interviewed by, have lead me to believe that I am almost "a shose in" - just the voting formality to undergo now.
"Klaatu Barada Nikto!" - I loved it.
