Metanoia Read online

  “Why is it difficult to believe? I’ve encountered angels, and they had given me good advice,” I expressed.

  “Having angelic dreams are quite different than entering otherworldly realms when lucid?”

  I countered, “What’s the difference whether one is in the physical reality or in a phantasmal state? The reverential message and experience are the same.”

  My guardian negated, “Although the message and experience are similar, my logical mind has difficulty inscribing the ethereal as tangible. I need evidential validation that her spritely experiences are real.”

  “Are you disputing my angelic experiences that Monsieur Dubois (my ex-private tutor) had verified in his Zentology studies as phony?” I catechized. “Are my dreams less substantial than actuality?”

  Unable to conjure up a proper response, Andy explicated, “That’s why I’m studying engineering than fashion designing.”

  “What has studying engineering or learning to be a fashion designer to do with my questions?” I pressed.

  He kissed my forehead before he declared, “I, my boy, am a left-brainer and you, my darling, are a cut above the rest.”

  My Valet was obviously evading my questions. “I’m going to recce the vicinity,” he chirped.

  “By divine grace, I hope the path will be revealed to you and me,” he iterated and walked away.

  Antichthon “Counter-Earth” (Chapter Five)

  “Nothing comes sailing by itself.”

  Alexander Dale Oen

  October 1968

  Club de Yates, Acapulco Bay, Mexico

  The 1968 Olympic Sailing program consisted of five sailing classes (disciplines). There were seven races in each category. Sailing was organized in the triangular Olympic courses off the Acapulco Bay.

  The Murashshahaan and Supercal were competing in the two sailors dinghy, the ‘Flying Dutchman’ category. As spectators gathered to witness the start of race one, the majority were unaware that the starting line was excessively biased and absurdly short, due to the insufficient organizational slate of the race officer. This resulted in a disastrous mêlée where several boats rafted together; Supercal being one of them. Those rafted sailed in the hind after the start signal was flagged. Despite the hiccup, Ronnie and Iian crossed the finish line with flying colors, only to be disqualified for foul play.

  Although this mishap surged a false sense of victory to the competitors; especially my ‘Master,’ who was elated by his opponents’ adversity. Fahrib, his sailing partner, advised not to rejoice too soon. Yet, the athlete could not contain his elation and treated our entourage to a private fiesta. Even-though the sheik, my Valet, Professor Curt, Señor Triqueros, and I shared similar sentiments, the rest of our group went along with Tad, especially Mrs. Swarovski who was now the athlete’s unauthenticated lover. After Andy and my departure from Tequila a Go Gó, those two had spent a night of fiery passion together.

  I waited for my ‘Master’s’ summons after my discotheque’s debacle, but none came. Now that the ‘merry widow’ had occupied his leisure slate, Andy and I were glad to evade Tad’s wrath. I had become second fiddle, only to be called upon when he needed de minimis sexual gratifications. At the very least, I was temporarily extricated from the Arab’s eccentric erraticism.

  On the other hand, I had become Andrea’s resonator. A role I played to perfection. Even at that young age, I knew the importance of communication, taught me at the Bahriji. This vital part of my E.R.O.S. educational programme was an artistic sonata in and of itself, a movement that consisted of three sections: the exposition, development, and recapitulation, usually followed by a coda.

  The Exposition

  I would often bump into Mrs. Swarovski by the hotel pool, sunbathing and reading; when I swam after my morning tutorials. My swimming regiment was part of my new tutor’s coaching curriculum. Professor Curt Eberhardt philosophized that a dose of daily aquatic exercise would improve the pliancy of mind, body, and spirit.

  Like my Valet, my teacher’s handsome physique often stole the pool loungers’ eyes. Although most gandered from behind their reading materials, the audacious few struck up conversations with the jock after our natation exercises. Their goal was to garner a private audience with the hunk, be it in or out of their chambers.

  During these intrepid moments, Madame Swarovski would beckon me over for small talk. Often our conversations drifted to her and Tad’s pridian encounters. Her delineations would shift from the casual to the intimate. My role was to remain quiet, even when her blabbers turn to counsel solicitations. Usually, her postulations were self-analytical rather than advisory. I was there to lend a sympathetic ear. In short, I had taken on the role as her therapist even-though I didn’t realize it at the time.

  The Development

  That morning, our chatter turned to the book she had given me.

  “Have you finished reading the novel I gave you?” the widow asked.

  “It’s fascinating, ma’am. Aunt Mary’s merpeople illustrations bore strong resemblances to what I saw during the thunderstorm,” I remarked. “Although the creatures I witnessed were shimmering and iridescent, unlike the black and white prints in the book, the written descriptions were similar.”

  Just when the widow was about to comment, my teacher was by us, dripping wet from his laps. I handed him a towel when the ‘Countess’ quipped, “Do the mermen resemble your tutor?”

  “What mermen?” Herr Eberhardt questioned.

  Not knowing how to respond, I stared into space.

  “Didn’t Young tell you, he saw sirens on the night of the thunderstorm?” Andrea announced.

  My educator stared at me for an answer.

  I replied hastily, “I didn’t want to alarm anyone until I’m positive about what I saw.”

  “Tell me what you saw and see if I can shed some light?” Curt declared.

  The Recapitulation

  Left with little choice, I reiterated my thunderstorm experience. I omitted to tell the professor about Tad’s cogent reaction below deck.

  Eberhardt pondered before he began, “Following Columbus’s expedition to the Americas, there were sideshows in Europe that advertised ‘recently discovered’ mermaids from the new world. These creatures turned out to be deceased sirenian….”

  “What is a sirenian?” I questioned before he could continue.

  “You like to jump the gun, don’t you?” my teacher voiced. “A short time ago, the skeleton of a ‘mermaid,’ as it was called, was brought to Portsmouth. It had been shot on the island of Mombasa. When submitted to the members of the Philosophical Society; it proved to be a Dugong.”

  Again, my curiosity overshadowed my prudence.

  I interjected, “What’s a Dugong?”

  “You’re such an inquisitive fella.” The jock tweaked my nose sportively before he resumed, “A Dugong is approximately six feet long. It has lower dorsal vertebrae, with broad caudal extremity. Thereby creating the likeness of a powerful fish. To untrained eyes, especially during a heavy thunderstorm and/or under tumultuous waves, its forelegs; from the scapula to the extremities of the phalanges can easily be misconstrued as a female arm.”

  My professor gave me a sad look and added, “Sorry lad, to shatter your phantasies of witnessing sirens in action.”

  The Coda

  I questioned again, “Are Dugongs typical of this region?”

  Curt shook his head and answered smilingly, “These sea mammals thrive in the Arabian Peninsula and in your neck of the world.”

  “My neck of the world? You mean Malaya?”

  The man nodded. “Especially in Palau and Abu Dhabi. Within the three thousand years old Tambun cave; drawings of ‘Ladies of the Sea’ (the Malay translation of Dugongs) were discovered in 1959.

  “Per Malayan and Palauan lore, dugongs were once beautiful women before their transformation into gentle grazers. Illustrated wood carvings of dugongs who assisted fishermen lost at sea were found in that region.”

 
“Can dugongs shapeshift back to humans?” I inquired.

  The jock burst out in laughter. “Maybe, you should consult the sheik, the prince or your ‘Master.’ They may be able to give you a definitive answer,” he teased.

  “I thought you know everything about dugongs. I’ve never heard of them until now,” I quipped.

  My teacher chortled heartily, “Don’t take everything I say as the end all and be all. I’m only quoting from reputable travel magazines, periodicals, and journals.

  “My advice to you, young man, is to go with your gut feeling.”

  My fascination with merpeople and sirens continued to bug me after our conversation shifted to other topics. I knew I had to get to the bottom to what I saw in the ocean.

  Third Week of June 1968

  Bassenthwaite Lake, English Lake District

  As I laid by the grassy banks of Bassenthwaite Lake, wild butterflies and buzzing insects whizzed by without a care in the world. I gazed nonchalantly at the changing cloudscape; enthralled by its transformational shapes from human portraitures to animal caricatures, before changing to angel depictions.

  Perched on a reed by the water’s edge was an iridescent dragonfly. Upon closer observation, a tiny object was in conversation with the insect. Fascinated by the scenario, I moved closer to the plant. What I saw was beyond comprehension. A minuscule entity whose physique resembled a robust child with sophisticated features and ears that resembled a giant tilted leaf spoke an obscure language to the insect, which appears to understand his directive.

  He noticed my presence and jumped rapidly onto the Odonata, ready for flight. He behaved as if he would be apprehended under my watchful eyes, yet he was curious about my proximity to his propinquity. We stared at one another motionless.

  I broke the silence. “Don’t be afraid. I mean you no harm,” I whispered.

  As if he had become invisible, he sat unmoved.

  “Are you a fairy?” I asked.

  Alarmed by my question, he tapped the dragonfly’s hind to fly. Even though the Odonata’s wings were flapping, they remained static as they continued to ponder my oddity.

  When he finally spoke, I was clueless about his mutteration, yet I understood him via telepathy.

  “I think he’s the one. Maybe he’s the one?” he murmured to his companion, who nodded in agreement.

  “Who’s what one?” I questioned.

  Though my query was unanswered, he beckoned me to follow. Before I could question further, they were airborne. The dragonfly flew slowly so I could catch up. When they lost sight of me, they would buzz around to await my reappearance. We faded into the woods.

  As we journeyed further into the forest, my inquisitiveness absconded my prudence. Neither my guardian nor my safety was of concern. Soon, the landscape morphed from normalcy to phenomenal.

  I had gradually diminished from five feet eleven inches to six inches in height. I was now three inches taller than the entity I followed.

  Finally, we arrived in a lea, filled with wild blossoms. Colorful snapdragons, hollyhocks, lupines, and cornflowers surrounded our path. My preliminary sentiment was that of entering the land of Oz, yet unlike its garish Hollywood cousin, this place exudes sophistication. I was also enraptured by the diminutive denizens that dwell amidst the resplendence flora and fauna. Curious by my presence, they peeked from pint-sized windows. Some greeted me by bowing their heads while others gave me princely curtseys. I had assumed their nakedness was the reason for their shyness, but upon later acquaintance, I realized that their bashful modesty was unrelated to their nudity. As nature intended, they were at ease unclothed.

  Throughout our sojourn, I was unaware that the sky had become a reflection of the ground since I remain focused on my guides. Within this Lilliputian universe, everything was infinitely smaller; even though the dimensions above were that of the human world. My surroundings had also shrunk, which rendered me oblivious to the parallel universe I now inhabit.

  A great variety of arthropods lived alongside these tiny inhabitants. They flew on the backs of winged insects, birds, butterflies, dragonflies, damselflies, and honey bees wherever they travel.

  The elfin on the dragonfly settled on a green blade by the edge of a circular pond before he jumped onto the foliage and announced in the language I did not understand but did via telepathy.

  “Welcome to the Kingdom of Ferrisabatwa.” He greeted me with a bow.

  Mid 2014

  An Unexpected Message

  A notification appeared on my computer screen during my penning of A Harem Boy’s Saga – III – Debauchery. This Facebook message arrived from a person named David whom I had never met nor was introduced to.

  Since I started writing my autobiography in 2011; friends and fans had congratulated my candidness and courage in the documentation of my tendentious teenage experiences. Yet, none had ventured forth to profess similar harem experiences like mine. David was the first, and I am confident will not be the last to share his seraglio adventures with me.

  David’s Message

  Hello Young, I finished reading A Harem Boy’s Saga; Initiation and Unbridled within a week. Your schooling experiences described in Initiation is like mine. Although I was educated in Sweden, I was one of three students selected to enter a secret fraternity. After my initiation ceremony, I was whisked to an oasis school outside of Riyadh for further education.

  Like you, I was schooled in carnal knowledge before I was allocated to several Middle Eastern households. My harem experiences differed slightly; I and the other heterosexual recruits were summoned by the household females and not by the men. Our allurements were clandestine and hush-hush affairs. Unlike you, we did not travel extensively with our household patriarchs and his male entourage. When we did go with the paterfamilias, the womenfolk were a part of their cortège. Like you, we had Big-Brothers, private tutors, and mentors to accompany and to assist us throughout our terms of service.

  I had kept my anomalous adventures to myself over the years. I hope we can become friends and share our experiences openly. That said, I want to congratulate you on the candidness of your erotic descriptions which you documented so eloquently in your writing.

  You can reach me via Facebook or email me. I hope to be better acquainted with you.

  Best wishes,

  David

  Relevant Connexions (Chapter Six)

  “Strange encounters are cerebral adventures. They are moving experiences with heedful messages to note.”

  Victor Angel Triqueros

  October 1968

  La Quebrada, Acapulco, Mexico

  The competing participants were busy nailing down their concluding act the week leading up to the Olympic finals. Sheik Fahrib and Tad were immersed in daily preparations for their forthcoming challenge that Murashshahaan was up to its tasks.

  After our night out with the boys, I scarcely encountered Ronnie and Iian except in passing. They were preoccupied with Supercal and worked tirelessly on their dinghy in readiness for the clincher. Although they were disqualified in the first race, the duo labored arduously after that and won the subsequent races with their patience, persistence, and perseverance. The blondes snatched the gold in the denouement and rendered their competitors; especially the sheik and my ‘Master,’ who were sore losers to an otherwise friendly match.

  Time was on our hands before and after each tournament. We, the cheerleaders notably my sports enthusiast professor suggested we visit La Quebrada; to watch the daredevil stunts performed by famous high divers.

  Although cliff diving at La Quebrada had been around for many years, the La Quebrada Cliff Divers was formed in 1934 by a famous diver named Raoul Garcia. He and the late Teddy Stauffer (“Mr. Acapulco”), who was credited with turning Acapulco into a world-class resort together with their band of like-minded compatriots propelled the cliff diving boys into sports stars.

  The 1963 Elvis Presley movie - Fun in Acapulco and the ABC’s Wide World of Sports catapulted cliffs a
nd divers to international stardom, making cliff diving an advent of extreme sports. To this day foreign high divers consider La Quebrada a must venture to dive venue. It was little wonder that Herr Curt Eberhardt advocated our entourage to witness this adventurous sport.

  Our entourage arrived half an hour before performance time, while the sinewy divers were in concerted predive preparations for their thirty-five meters head-on collision with the ocean below.

  The depth of the water within the gulch varied between six to sixteen feet, with an average of twelve feet in depth, depending on the size of the waves. Therefore, the timing was crucial for these daredevils. During the evening performances, the divers held fiery torches to illuminate their descent.

  Just as the glowing sun was about to dissipate into the horizon, several teenage divers knelt in silent prayers before the shrine of the Virgin of Guadalupe. Their prayer rituals were for a safe and harmless dive before their allotted three-second free-fall into the abyss. Each performer coincided their jump with an incoming wave so they would not risk cracking their skulls on the rocky ocean floor.

  I caught sight of a handsome teenage diver who was no more than a few years older than me. He was in deep contemplation when I went over to him. He opened his eyes from his trance-like prayer.

  “Why do you pray before the performance?” I queried.

  He extended his hand to shake mine.

  “I’m Jesús and you?” he asked.

  “Young,” I replied.

  “I’ve to visualize my dive, so I wouldn’t be injured. My job is dangerous,” the lad remarked.

  “Why do you do it when it’s so perilous?”

  He responded with a wan smile and said, “I’ve to help support my parents. This is a job I can earn a decent living and am good at.”