left 30 aug 2010
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Gibson Les Paul, a man born on a train and named after his daddy's guitar, opened the car door and stepped out into the cool shade of the parking lot.
The whole place reverberated with vibrations, and they affected him just as they always had.
He began to vibrate in sync to them, changing his pitch to accommodate their chords.
The very stones of the place, gray and rough-quarried, resounded with church music that soared up the scale like a rocket to heaven, accompanied by the thundering of speeches and many voices speaking many languages.
He turned a corner as he walked, and blinked, thinking he had run into a wall, but there was no wall there.
"There are zeitgeists here." came into his head, and he nodded to himself as he felt the age-old buildings still time-stamping their presence long after they were gone.
The Scarritt-Bennett Center stood green and gothic under the midday sun, shielded from the direct rays, except for the very tops of the baking roofs, by trees that seemed as ancient as the stones that made up the buildings, and the lonely tree-shaded sidewalks were sent buckling by ancient roots.
Last time at the Dreamland Festival 1 he had stayed at the Union Station Hotel, another re-invented ancient monument that was a train station in a past life.
Hermes sat atop a tower there, but that's not what would sit upon a tower here, besides perhaps a cross-wielding gargoyle or two staring perpetually into the nothingness, keeping it locally free from the evil spirits of the Kingdoms of the Air.
He smiled, fondly remembering the bar at the Union Station and the participants from the festival chatting gayly and perchance ignoring moderation, and he soon realized there would be nothing like that here, as this former Church School was non-smoking and temperate to a fault.
He shuddered, remember a forced visit in his youth to a Baptist Retreat where there was more rules about what you couldn't do, than there were people attending the Retreat.
He checked in at Laskey Hall, a larger stone edifice housing the Administrative section, under the symbol of the Methodist's Knowledge-Flame.
There were grooves in the stone floor where many so feet had walked.
He had a vision of the millions of them, all over time, leaving the hallowed halls here for destinations unknown, slight fearful, but confident with their missionary zeal.
A million languages assailed his ears from long-dust tongues, and he focused his attention on the local noises to drown them out.
There was a typing sound coming from behind a door, and the air conditioning unit whispered unintelligible phrases in several different keys as it blew cold air down the dustless hallway.
He checked in, requesting a first floor room and no room-sharing, paying extra to keep it that way.
He liked being on his own, preferring it to company even, the solitude helping to accentuate the soundtrack playing forever in his head, and a roommate might be fun, and but also might cramp his style, especially if they were star-struck.
Most people weren't in the same physical shape he was in, as he loved walking and did it as much as possible, his footsteps beating in time to the particular song that his subconscious chose for his soundtrack that day, and he really didn't want conversation unless it was highly advanced, just like he liked his music.
Highly advanced music, with its cascading harmonies and interference patterns and intentional discord, was an acquired taste, and a roommate might not like it, or his constant humming as he vibrated with everything that he contacted.
He made his way to Gibson Hall, merely a freak coincidence that it bore his name, and one he didn't particularly like.
Perhaps it amused the bored check-in lady to assign him that dormitory, but he was humming a discordant requiem for coincidence by the time he reached the door of the Hall.
The room was small, reminding him of his private boarding school days, and the Baptist Retreat, although this wasn't as bare boned as that hell-hole, and also that awful Scottish hotel that his Agent though was quaint where the landlady required temperance in everything including bath water, although you could smoke there oddly enough, and you couldn't do that here at all.
Twin beds filled the refurbished room, their yellowish-green bed coverings contrasting oddly with the ocher walls.
Yep, the private-school-remembered shared bathroom lay between the rooms, gleaming at him with newly reworked plumbing.
The rooms offered voice-mail, email and wireless internet for their guests, but his blackberry needed a charge not connectivity, and he growled a dirge, wondering when technology would allow charging batteries over-the-air without having to connect them to a wire.
He chose to defer the task and went downstairs to the Hall's lounge.
Whitley, Anne, William and a whole bunch of other people had arrived and were taking up residence in the Hall's overstuffed and now overcrowded Lounge, and they made a few jokes about his name and that of the Hall that he met with a forced positive smile.
He had had quite enough of that in his private school days, and soon they picked up on that and left the subject.
But still he excused himself and went for a walk, mainly because the Hall's lounge was so full and still filling up more and he was becoming claustrophobic at all the conflicting chords of energy, and they had begun to notice him.
Gray Hall housed a buffet-style cafeteria that was either never open or never closed as far as he could tell since there was no posted schedule for meals.
The Cloisters at Bennett Hall beckoned to him, their antique slate arches with prominent keystones reminding him of the stones lining the right path at the Capitol Mall.
He had had a vision there at the Mall, sort of a negative image, as if everything was reversed, but it only lasted a few seconds, and it really didn't affect him much, and now he hardly remembered it.
The Tower, also flanked by its own keystone'd arches soared in architectural splendor, accompanied in his head by a soaring organ, but he wished for more info on where things were, as his college days were a long time ago for him, and he didn't miss that campus even one bit, almost setting the grass alight and definitely leaving skid marks in the street with the speed he flew out of there after graduation.
This place was even more complicated, and carried a whole different rhythm, since everywhere he turned there was another Chapel, almost like in ancient Egypt where it seemed that each year or victory or change of reign brought yet another Chapel, and it seemed that this was also the case here, with outbuildings and additions making a labyrinth like the one in the much-touted International Garden and Labyrinth here on this campus.
He could see the top of the 'Peace Pole' that fronted the Garden and its associated Art Gallery, where, according to legend, sworn enemies or a feuding personage or even a wanted assassin could lay hands to that Peace Pole and have no fear or their enemies while in its jurisdiction here on campus.
A snarl growled through the air and he vibrated with it, wondering if there was a Minotaur in their Labyrinth or if just some overloaded construction truck was grinding its way through the nearby Vanderbilt University
If he had a choice, he'd choose the Minotaur, at least as long as it stayed comfortably in the Labyrinth.
He caught the whiff of burning sage, and wondered if the smoke-free campus was also incense-free, then he caught the high note of copal and smiled, hoping whoever it was doing it didn't get caught illegally smudging.
His wanderings brought him back to the dining hall again, and this time it was open, and within the smells directed him to the usual cafeteria fare of franks and beans, ham and beans, fish and cabbage, and marvelously lumpy mac and cheese, served with pull-apart rolls, and for afters there was pineapple and grapes and Green Jello.
Trying hard to ignore his battery's over-taxed state, he read the Scarritt-Bennett website material while he ate, connecting to the local free wifi.
He often had his nose in something during breakfast and sometimes lunch, and since he had had neither today, he supposed this would count as his morning meal, even though it was more approaching evening than noon.
"SCARRITT-BENNETT CENTER was organized in 1988 as a non-profit conference, retreat and educational center, committed to empowerment through cross-cultural understanding, education, creativity and spiritual renewal. The Centers Missionary Societies and the Methodist Episcopal Church South. The Dining Hall, built at the same time, was paid for from local funds.
Mr. Henry Hibbs, a Nashville architect, won national awards for his work on these buildings, which are a modified Collegiate Gothic style. The buildings were constructed from colored Crab Orchard (Tennessee rubble) stone, which was quarried in East Tennessee,
and the casement windows of the original structures were imported from England.
However beautiful, the Center is more than just buildings, and it was here at Scarritt, that students were educated about different cultures, languages and traditions. Staff and fellow students were often from other countries serving to further enrich the learning experience. The skills and knowledge acquired on this campus equipped men and women to function in the midst of wars, famine, and severe poverty as they served in countries needing assistance, as well as in domestic situations.
This began the legacy upon which the Centers Division of the United Methodist Church purchased the buildings and grounds, and the 10 acres became Scarritt-Bennett Center, under the direction of the SBC Board.
For many years Scarritt has opened its doors, welcomed and embraced without discrimination
based on racial, social or faith issues. Today Scarritt-Bennett Center remains dedicated the legacy of Scarritt College and Scarritt Graduate School and the missionaries, educators and musicians who were trained here, by providing a haven for those seeking to
gather in an environment that is nurturing, conducive to open dialogue, and available to all faiths and cultures."
The place was an interesting box of chocolates, a meeting place of multiple cultures designed to teach cultural diversity and expose the young missionaries they trained to the language and looks of different nations that they may possibly be serving in.
Zeitgeists of many languages filled his mind again and he concentrated on the taste of the meal, but they persisted and he couldn't drown them out.
The words vibrated through him, hinting at an ancient hidden secret, and other things, other rituals, that had been done here in ancient times long before he was even born.
That one final voice, the breathless, youngish, feminine voice, shook him a bit as it said its last: "Whatever you do, don't follow the Light!"
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He awoke in the night, sweating, and there was a tiny drop blood on the pillow, but he could find no injury.
Either the guest rooms were not as clean as he thought, or there was trouble brewing, and he hummed a few bars of a popular tune, concentrating on the hooks, to call himself down.
The clock ticked over to 3:33 am.
A misty blue light began to shine from the windows beneath the building across the way, the voice of the warning held its breath, and he turned, under a compulsion greater than his own.
If he had only had someone sharing his room, then they could perhaps break this siren call!
Fingers gripped door-lock steel, and his muscles involuntarily turned the lever.
He blacked out, walking quickly down the hallway toward the door.
He came to his senses, surrounded by pulsing, self-luminous blue mist, in a totally unfamiliar place.
The soundtrack was now from John Carpenter, and he felt fear tingle through his bloodstream as the glands pumped with their ancient survival fight-or-flight song.
He tried to look around and see where he was, peering through the almost-dark, but the blue mist hid just as much as it revealed.
Only the center of the room could he see, and he judged that he was underground, perhaps in the basement of the building where the light had appeared.
The compulsion had left him, and he approached the center of the room gingerly.
Tree roots grew down from the ceiling, and inside that cage lay the blue-while mist, surrounding a softly glowing yellow-orange egg-shaped orb.
A rainbow iridescence covered its surface, and the colors shifted as he moved.
It brightened as he approached, and he tried to back away, the xenophobic fear of the unknown choking him!
An ancient vortex opened between the worlds, with the edge right at his feet!
He suddenly felt very tired and knew that his energy was lower than normal, and he turned to run, but where was there a door in this place?
He took one faltering step and the choking fear stabbed him, and he fell to the floor in a heap.
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He awoke with his mind jumping like a flea on a hot skillet between one thing and another, and he couldn't seem to calm down as the fear filled his heart, and ate at his mind.
The orb was right there, and he went back toward it, but nothing happened except that he walked toward it, there was no opening generated for him to go back through.
Dawn found him still attempting to go back through, away from this place that he feared.
With the light came vision, and it froze him in his tracks.
His eyes saw a negative image of everything!
Black was white, and white was black!
He flung himself at the orb and tried desperately to go back to his world again but nothing happened.
Resigning himself that he could not stay here and find another way to make it back home again, he made his way out of the basement, but having no memory of how he had gotten in here made it even more difficult than it should have been.
Everything was like a negative of a picture on film, and his eyes began to ache trying to see.
There was something in his way as he tried to go back to his room, the only place he knew in this awful hell-hole.
It bumped into him, and it sapped his strength with the contact!
He thought he would pass out, as the eyes of the thing widened to black pits, while the body of the thing was still glowing white!
Gibberish filled the air as the thing showed a white hole where its mouth should be.
It even had teeth and a tongue, and he could see it moving as the thing moved its mouth!
The flurry of odd language stopped, and the thing pushed him out of the way as it continued on down the black sidewalk amid the glowing white trees.
He watched it go, his heart pounding!
His mind was screaming, where the hell was he???
Dodging a few more of the moving blobs, he finally made it back to the room, where at least his clothes were there, and they were the only normal thing he could see.
There was nobody else in the building, and the place reeked with staleness and damp, but he felt he was safe for the moment.
There was no church music in these stones, but death-metal and painful screaming.
His positive energy was all wrong here, and he vibrated with the music in the stones that howled with fury and fear!
Black torches suddenly flickered in the white background, and he realized that they were searching for him.
Fear came again as he watched them poke and prod the white bushes, and it seemed that the taller ones were the bosses, as they were the only ones that spoke during their hunting.
His mind screamed again that this just could not be happening, but it was!
Stifling the urge to run back to the gate room, since it had remained stubbornly closed to him so far and there was no guarantee going back there would help any, he laid low in the room, exploring with his hands as his eyes betrayed him.
The funny thing was that everything felt normal to his hands, like he was still right in the regular room where he had put his stuff, and he tried the blackberry, but again the contrast of the darkness and the light made the letters on the screen unreadable.
His mind went to what he would do if he couldn't get back home, but he pulled it away by focusing on the room.
The ocher walls were now dark gray, and the beds were white blobs on the white floor.
There was no way he was sleeping here, regardless of how long he stayed in this backwards world!
He stressed to himself that he was safe for the moment, but he knew that he was not in his world, even though it was similar, it was not the same.
The torch-bearers were slowly working their way across campus, going further away from his room, and one of them carried what looked like a black pendulum that he swung now and again, perhaps dowsing for his location.
His breathing and heart-rate slowed and he became aware of his regular thoughts again, and began analyzing his situation.
In our world, the whole point of this campus had been to teach diversity and cultural exchange, but here, in this world, it seemed to be just the opposite, to indoctrinate and train assassins of positivity.
Positivity here is met with anger, fear and hatred, almost like the flip side of a coin, and he realized in a flash that to recognize positive energy meant also recognizing negative energy, the flip side of the coin.
"Holistic" came into his head, and he realized that positive and negative sides of a coin made a coin.
Above and below were two halves of the same whole thing.
Analysis of his condition left him still stuck here, but with this new attitude, he thought that one of these negative people coming into his positive world would have probably have met the same attitude that these people here showed him.
Dusk finally darkened into true night and he moved at last, heading for the Garden area, and the Peace Pole, hopefully to find solace there, or at least an end to the hunt.
Misty blue light was coming from under another building!
Skirting the open areas, he finally got to the door, and in desperation of the Gate closing on him, he ran straight at the blue mist.
He huddled himself together as there came a lurching and twisting in his stomach, and slowly opening his eyes, he saw white as white, and black as black!
He was back home again!
Oh blessed positive world, where his eyes saw only what was familiar!
A flash of insight came, and he suddenly realized what it must have been like for the young white missionaries, experienced with seeing their white-only segregated world, that passed through this place on their way to the other side of the world.
Intolerance from fear was more than just fearing differences, it was the absence of Love.
Acceptance of the outre' and the differently appearing and the fearfully strange, joined both sides of the coin into one wholeness, fomenting tolerance through love, which was the skinny twisted door between the hard pillars of the Gate, and also the only way into Heaven.
The End
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White Pride, A great E-mail I got.
hindoshima White Pride Apr 1 2009, 06:51 PM
Apr 1 2009, 06:51 PM
