Soldier Ghost, Part 2
The $536 Billion Defeat
Jews Jaws One Down
Shark America Nine Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 247
Virgil Kret's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World
Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Soldier Ghost (2)
Today's code is "58th Day, Last Year".
We have an extra code today which my Old Pal God has asked me to record for you. The code is, "Insult Them as You Send Them to Hell"; and with this code I am asked to note what pitifully cowardly and unqualified Democrats and Republicans are running for the Presidency of the United States of America.
And now, Dear Reader, as we take our second step into The Secret Story, Himitsu No Monogatari, of how God's Space Sailors saved the Japanese race and placed it on the islands of Japan, I will tell you about something very nice that happened yesterday.
In Soldier Ghost, Part 1, I mentioned a Japanese combat photographer named Sakai Toshio, who in fact at times covered the Vietnam War with me; and I was standing beside him in the rain when he took his Pulitzer prize winning war photo, "Dreams of Better Times"...well, he stopped by to visit me yesterday and said he was very interested in Himitsu No Monogatari.
To understand how pleasant this visit was to me you should know that Sakai, one of my best foxhole friends, died of a heart attack in Kamakura, Japan, in 1999 at the age of 59.
This work I do is known of far better in The Land of the Dead than in The Land of the Living.
And now, back to our story: In Soldier Ghost, Part 1, we met Soldier Ghost, or rather came to know of his existence, when he attached himself to Tea as Tea ran past his body, fresh-dead in a meadow, during a day of battle. Today we meet the spirit of a Japanese soldier killed in World War Two, who tells Tea his soul name is and has been for many lifetimes, Praying Mantis.
Soldier Ghost, Part 2
The night Praying Mantis died the moon hung over the tropics like a sickle. It was warmer than summer, although it was winter, and the stars were all secrets to the farmers’sons of the northern hemisphere land of Nippon, whose grasp had exceeded its reach when it entered into unholy alliance with Germany and Italy.
It was 1944.
The first atomic bombing was half a year away.
Rice wine was passed around. Goodbyes were said. Bayonets were affixed. Soldiers along the line were building up their inner spirit. Men in their dozens and in their hundreds were announcing their war cry, their death cry, “Banzai! Banzai!” “Ten thousands years!”, that was what it meant. Within that cheer lie Japan’s most secret of military secrets.
It was a deep and purple night. The broad leaves of the island jungle, as if nothing were about to happen, were collecting dew. Bugs crawled. Snatches of silence brought the clicking of enemy bolts on enemy machineguns.
It was frontal assault. It was glorious suicide. It was romantic war. Mathematically, it was stupid.
At that very moment, on the day side of the world, on the top side of the planet according to the globes of the time, a four-year-old boy who was represented by those US Marines clicking those bolts was asking an American sailor if he had ever killed a Jap.
The sailor had never seen a Jap, but bragged, “Yes”, showing him what he claimed to be a picture of the Jap he had killed, a cameo of a Trojan soldier on his ring.
“That’s no Jap,” the little boy said; and within him the cameo triggered some long-sleeping memory, and for a second he felt the breeze of a memory of having lived before.
The boy was Tea.
Eighteen years later Tea found himself fresh out of college and in the homeland of Praying Mantis.
The world thought Praying Mantis was compost in his South Pacific island grave; but Tea ran into him on a tourist excursion to a town called Ama-No-Hashi-Date, “The Bridge to Heaven”, a famous and beautiful place on the backside of Japan where the Sun Goddess is said to have established the Japanese race.
The fateful meeting took place when Tea and three friends were staying at one of the traditional little inns of the village.
Metaphysically, it was deep penetration because Ama-No-Hashi-Date was the Jerusalem of the Japanese dead, but Tea did not know this at the time.
Tea had left the company of his friends for a private stroll through the village streets and onto the long, narrow peninsula, thick with pines, that nearly cut off the town’s little bay from the sea. It was from this exquisite peninsula, narrow enough for a child to throw a rock across, and perhaps 200 yards long, that the town got its name.
It should be noted that Tea liked living in Japan for many reasons, one of them being the density of interesting ghosts he found there. To Tea, Ama-No-Hashi-Date was a spiritual archeological dig.
Tea had been told a samurai battle had taken place on the Bridge To Heaven, and, though he had not mentioned his intention to his companions, he wanted to go there alone to see if he could sniff out any residue of the drama, or (if he were lucky) get a glimpse of a samurai who gave his life there.
The Bridge to Heaven, as it turned out, was densely populated with ghosts. The atmosphere was almost pointillistic with their presence. It was a social place among the dead, a promenade.
Then Tea felt the contact. It was a solid contact, insistent.
Tea’s most common method of transcommunication utilized shallow sleep, entered into while lying on his back in what he called his “mummy pose”.
(Years later, when the Americans attacked him on a mass, public level, he saved his life and his sanity with the mummy pose, particularly with the incorporation of the concept of the “galactic”. That infamous American enslavement was yet, however, the better part of a decade away, and Tea, though even then probably the best ghost hunter on Earth, was still primitive in his technique.)
Tea’s method went like this: Insistent ghost contact tended to make him immediately sleepy, but he could not fall asleep while lying on his back posed as a mummy; the resulting compromise took him into the shallowest of sleeps and, with practice, allowed him a barely conscious manipulation of his “dream machine”, as he called it, and with further practice allowed those spirits talking to him to manipulate the machine.
Relative to the telepathy of our times, 300 years later, it was, to be sure, like two cans and a string, but in the third quarter of the 20th Century it was state of the art.
To proceed, then, with Tea’s first meeting with Praying Mantis.
Tea had hoped to meet an ancient samurai, but instead met a young officer killed in the Second World War, who bowed to him formally in tropical combat uniform, wearing sword, side arm and billed cap.
Apparently knowing the contact could be for no more than a few minutes, the ghost began to speak without ceremony.
“When I died,” Praying Mantis said, seemingly anxious to tell his story to Tea, “I did not know I was dead.”
Tea listened to the spirit as passively as he could because the slightest activity, physical, mental or telepathic on his part could break the contact.
“When I fell I charged on, spirit leaving corpse so quickly I continued the attack, spirit sword in spirit hand, thinking only of the objective.
“I was called Nakamura Yosei then, but my soul name was and is Praying Mantis.
“My first inkling that I was dead was awareness of lack of sound. I could not hear my voice rallying my men, though I could see them charging on into the machine gun fire; nor could I hear the guns, though I could see their flashes, and the tracers.
“I leaped over the log fortification the Americans had constructed and I cut through two Marines with my sword…but it was a horror for me because they did not fall. I, instead, somehow left the field.”
The dream began to fade.
Seemingly aware of the coming loss of contact, Praying Mantis bowed from the waist, his arms straight down the hem of his khaki uniform trousers, saying, as Tea spun back toward consciousness, “You are an interesting person. Your soul shows through. Thank you for listening to my story.”
(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through 58th day of its last year.
Jews Jaws One Down
Shark America Nine Up
Number of Earthquakes in the Past Seven Days: 247
Virgil Kret's Cell Phone Number: (530) 276-4923
Expect a Disastrous Earthquake on December 26, 2008
George W. Bush Will Destroy the World
Looking for the Peru-Chile God Event
Today: Tactics of the Smallville Battle: The Secret Story, Soldier Ghost (2)
Today's code is "58th Day, Last Year".
We have an extra code today which my Old Pal God has asked me to record for you. The code is, "Insult Them as You Send Them to Hell"; and with this code I am asked to note what pitifully cowardly and unqualified Democrats and Republicans are running for the Presidency of the United States of America.
And now, Dear Reader, as we take our second step into The Secret Story, Himitsu No Monogatari, of how God's Space Sailors saved the Japanese race and placed it on the islands of Japan, I will tell you about something very nice that happened yesterday.
In Soldier Ghost, Part 1, I mentioned a Japanese combat photographer named Sakai Toshio, who in fact at times covered the Vietnam War with me; and I was standing beside him in the rain when he took his Pulitzer prize winning war photo, "Dreams of Better Times"...well, he stopped by to visit me yesterday and said he was very interested in Himitsu No Monogatari.
To understand how pleasant this visit was to me you should know that Sakai, one of my best foxhole friends, died of a heart attack in Kamakura, Japan, in 1999 at the age of 59.
This work I do is known of far better in The Land of the Dead than in The Land of the Living.
And now, back to our story: In Soldier Ghost, Part 1, we met Soldier Ghost, or rather came to know of his existence, when he attached himself to Tea as Tea ran past his body, fresh-dead in a meadow, during a day of battle. Today we meet the spirit of a Japanese soldier killed in World War Two, who tells Tea his soul name is and has been for many lifetimes, Praying Mantis.
Soldier Ghost, Part 2
The night Praying Mantis died the moon hung over the tropics like a sickle. It was warmer than summer, although it was winter, and the stars were all secrets to the farmers’sons of the northern hemisphere land of Nippon, whose grasp had exceeded its reach when it entered into unholy alliance with Germany and Italy.
It was 1944.
The first atomic bombing was half a year away.
Rice wine was passed around. Goodbyes were said. Bayonets were affixed. Soldiers along the line were building up their inner spirit. Men in their dozens and in their hundreds were announcing their war cry, their death cry, “Banzai! Banzai!” “Ten thousands years!”, that was what it meant. Within that cheer lie Japan’s most secret of military secrets.
It was a deep and purple night. The broad leaves of the island jungle, as if nothing were about to happen, were collecting dew. Bugs crawled. Snatches of silence brought the clicking of enemy bolts on enemy machineguns.
It was frontal assault. It was glorious suicide. It was romantic war. Mathematically, it was stupid.
At that very moment, on the day side of the world, on the top side of the planet according to the globes of the time, a four-year-old boy who was represented by those US Marines clicking those bolts was asking an American sailor if he had ever killed a Jap.
The sailor had never seen a Jap, but bragged, “Yes”, showing him what he claimed to be a picture of the Jap he had killed, a cameo of a Trojan soldier on his ring.
“That’s no Jap,” the little boy said; and within him the cameo triggered some long-sleeping memory, and for a second he felt the breeze of a memory of having lived before.
The boy was Tea.
Eighteen years later Tea found himself fresh out of college and in the homeland of Praying Mantis.
The world thought Praying Mantis was compost in his South Pacific island grave; but Tea ran into him on a tourist excursion to a town called Ama-No-Hashi-Date, “The Bridge to Heaven”, a famous and beautiful place on the backside of Japan where the Sun Goddess is said to have established the Japanese race.
The fateful meeting took place when Tea and three friends were staying at one of the traditional little inns of the village.
Metaphysically, it was deep penetration because Ama-No-Hashi-Date was the Jerusalem of the Japanese dead, but Tea did not know this at the time.
Tea had left the company of his friends for a private stroll through the village streets and onto the long, narrow peninsula, thick with pines, that nearly cut off the town’s little bay from the sea. It was from this exquisite peninsula, narrow enough for a child to throw a rock across, and perhaps 200 yards long, that the town got its name.
It should be noted that Tea liked living in Japan for many reasons, one of them being the density of interesting ghosts he found there. To Tea, Ama-No-Hashi-Date was a spiritual archeological dig.
Tea had been told a samurai battle had taken place on the Bridge To Heaven, and, though he had not mentioned his intention to his companions, he wanted to go there alone to see if he could sniff out any residue of the drama, or (if he were lucky) get a glimpse of a samurai who gave his life there.
The Bridge to Heaven, as it turned out, was densely populated with ghosts. The atmosphere was almost pointillistic with their presence. It was a social place among the dead, a promenade.
Then Tea felt the contact. It was a solid contact, insistent.
Tea’s most common method of transcommunication utilized shallow sleep, entered into while lying on his back in what he called his “mummy pose”.
(Years later, when the Americans attacked him on a mass, public level, he saved his life and his sanity with the mummy pose, particularly with the incorporation of the concept of the “galactic”. That infamous American enslavement was yet, however, the better part of a decade away, and Tea, though even then probably the best ghost hunter on Earth, was still primitive in his technique.)
Tea’s method went like this: Insistent ghost contact tended to make him immediately sleepy, but he could not fall asleep while lying on his back posed as a mummy; the resulting compromise took him into the shallowest of sleeps and, with practice, allowed him a barely conscious manipulation of his “dream machine”, as he called it, and with further practice allowed those spirits talking to him to manipulate the machine.
Relative to the telepathy of our times, 300 years later, it was, to be sure, like two cans and a string, but in the third quarter of the 20th Century it was state of the art.
To proceed, then, with Tea’s first meeting with Praying Mantis.
Tea had hoped to meet an ancient samurai, but instead met a young officer killed in the Second World War, who bowed to him formally in tropical combat uniform, wearing sword, side arm and billed cap.
Apparently knowing the contact could be for no more than a few minutes, the ghost began to speak without ceremony.
“When I died,” Praying Mantis said, seemingly anxious to tell his story to Tea, “I did not know I was dead.”
Tea listened to the spirit as passively as he could because the slightest activity, physical, mental or telepathic on his part could break the contact.
“When I fell I charged on, spirit leaving corpse so quickly I continued the attack, spirit sword in spirit hand, thinking only of the objective.
“I was called Nakamura Yosei then, but my soul name was and is Praying Mantis.
“My first inkling that I was dead was awareness of lack of sound. I could not hear my voice rallying my men, though I could see them charging on into the machine gun fire; nor could I hear the guns, though I could see their flashes, and the tracers.
“I leaped over the log fortification the Americans had constructed and I cut through two Marines with my sword…but it was a horror for me because they did not fall. I, instead, somehow left the field.”
The dream began to fade.
Seemingly aware of the coming loss of contact, Praying Mantis bowed from the waist, his arms straight down the hem of his khaki uniform trousers, saying, as Tea spun back toward consciousness, “You are an interesting person. Your soul shows through. Thank you for listening to my story.”
(To Be Continued)
Meanwhile, the USA, unaware it was about to eat the fire, passed through 58th day of its last year.
posted by Virgil Kret at 5:21 PM
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