Chapter 19
Jon entered the new room and collided with Fribourg. He wasn’t certain why he had come to a complete stop, or why the chase felt like it was over, but there was a man there who instructed them both to take a seat. They both stood there, trying to figure out where in the world they had arrived. The room was fairly dark, and the man had his back to them, leaning over an illuminated table.
The man turned, revealing he was holding a special, film print magnifying glass over his left eye, almost similar to the Borg, but not quite, and he looked at both of them.
“Sit,” he said again.
Jon and Fribourg complied without question, as if there was no other possible response to the man’s authority, and so they sat in the only chairs available. Their legs dangled, their toes barely touching the floor, as if they were children in the principal’s office. The man turned back to the table. There was a dispensing reel and a take up reel, and he was examining a film strip, cell by cell, winding the take up reel by hand. The man was sitting on a floating stool, similar to what a doctor might use to push around the exam room, only it was really floating, no wheels.
He clucked at the film. He took his eye piece off and sat it down on the table, turned to face the two interlopers, pulling his bifocals into place. He was sort of grandfatherly, a mix of dark and gray hair.
“What do you two have to say for yourselves?” the man asked.
Jon and Fribourg both started talking at once, trying to talk over each other, and gain the attention of the final cut editor. The man put a hand up and they stopped.
“Are you Morgan Freeman?” Jon asked in the silence that fell. “Do I look like Morgan Freeman?” he demanded.
Jon pushed his tongue under his top two teeth, not sure if he should answer. It felt like he had done this before. He was going to be really embarrassed if it turned out this was Samuel Jackson. Actually, if was he was Samuel, Jon considered himself already in mortal danger. The guy had a purple lightsaber, and it wasn’t so certain he was completely batting for the light side.
“Spit it out,” the Editor said.
“Yes, Sir, kind of resemble, sort of, in this light,” Jon rambled. “Chicken,” Fribourg whispered.
“Well, it just so happens, he looks like me,” the Editor said. “Now, let’s try this again, and one at a time. Jon, what do you have to say for yourself?” the Editor asked.
“Um, he made me do it?” Jon asked.
“I made you do it? I had everything perfectly under control until you went and ruined it,” Fribourg said.
“So, basically, neither of you have learned anything in what, 6 billion years of air time?” the Editor asked, crossing his arms.
“Six billion years?” Fribourg asked. “You mean like, 6,000?!”
The Editor peered over his glasses at Fribourg. “How is it you evolved to a tech oriented society and you still carry that?”
“It’s written! Do the math!” Fribourg snapped, equally crossing his arms, defiantly. Jon grimaced expecting fallout from talking back to the Editor.
“Wake up and smell the fucking metaphor,” the Editor snapped right back, slapping the light table. “A day is a thousand years, a thousand years a day?”
“Yeah, thousand, not million, not billions, thousand,” Fribourg said. “Sometimes I wonder why I didn’t stop at Sea Monkeys,” the Editor lamented.
“Um speaking of that, I am rather sore that Sea Monkeys are not what I thought Sea Monkeys would be,” Jon said.
“You and every other pubescent male from the sixties and seventies,” the Editor said. “And yes, I know, you’re mad that popular mechanic as far back as the forties promised flying cars and you still didn’t have them in the twenties. Stop sending me mail about that. That’s not on me. I gave you Tesla and you fucking box him in a hotel till he died, stole his papers, and well, you went with the Alpha male, monetary paradigms. I mean, how many plagues do I have to send before you stop inserting the Alpha male paradigms? I give you free energy, free food, I make the world a virtual paradise, and you muck it up every fucking time.”
Jon pursed his lips, lowering his head, almost sulking. “I am sorry we fucked up your world.”
“We?” Fribourg asked. “Where did you get this we shit? Had you simply surrendered, the world would be perfectly okay, but no, you had to go and make this elaborate Doctor Strangelove Doomsday device so you could have all the women to yourself.”
“I so did not orchestrate that for sex!” Jon snapped.
“You’re still mad because I got fifty dates with Drew Barrymore,” Fribourg said. “You said that wasn’t you?!” Jon said.
“I lied!” Fribourg said back.
“But, but, she didn’t remember you so it doesn’t count,” Jon said. “You took advantage of someone who was memory impaired.”
“Oh, like you haven’t fucked any retards or meth heads,” Fribourg said. “She denied the meth!”
“She was 18 and looked as if she was sixty and had lesions on her skin and missing teeth,” Fribourg pointed out.
“Yeah, some people have a hard life,” Jon said. “So it was a sympathy fuck?” Fribourg asked. “Well, no, I wanted to tap that,” Jon said.
“Boys!” the Editor said, snapping his fingers and reigning them back in. “Relax. You didn’t destroy my world.”
Jon and Fribourg were curious.
“I am pretty sure the world ended,” Fribourg said.
“Yeah, your world ended, but not my world,” the Editor said. He pointed behind him and suddenly a warehouse full of movie film canisters were suddenly visible, lights flipping on with an audible ‘throw a big switch’ kind of noise tracking back into infinity. The Editor held up the empty film canister which had stored the film being examined: ‘Jon’s World.’ “This is not origin. Origin is on the shelf, in a vault that makes ‘Get Well Smart’s’ vault look like a comedy.”
“It was a comedy,” Jon pointed out.
“Son, don’t interrupt your elders,” the Editor said, and Jon wondered if maybe the Editor would have made for a better Gene Wilder replacement in the Willy Wonka remake. “This is just one of the many tangents that I have to sort through to follow all of my Tulpas to make sure they’re safe. The original timeline is perfectly protected, and I can pull a single frame for duplication and start tangents after tangents to explore strange new worlds, or exotic parodies of the original, or just see how far I can take Sea Monkeys.”
“You mean, like in the comic books?” Jon asked, excited. “They’re for real?”
“I didn’t do that. You guys did that. I swear, you guys would fuck anything. There is a whole world full of fucking couches. No really, ‘fucking’ couches, that follow teenage boys around like love sick puppies.”
“Oh, that explains that world,” Jon said. “That’s just sick,” Fribourg said.
“You telling me you didn’t fuck a couch in your day?” the Jon asked.
“No, Jon, I didn’t,” Fribourg said. “You should know my history, you created me.”
“I don’t remember creating you,” Jon argued. “I think you were always there, in the back ground of my mind.”
“He’s a past life Tulpa. Tulpas follow you from life to life,” the Editor said.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Jon said. “You’re responsible for all of this. All the suffering and misery.”
“How do you figure that?” the Editor asked, patient.
“How do I figure that? Well, if there is initial cause and effect, then by definition, this is your doing.” Jon said. “Not the devil’s, not Eve’s, and not Adam. You made the toys and put them all in the sand box. It’s on you.”
“I can’t believe we’re still in this paradigm of blaming. Ever heard of the water cycle?
There is no beginning or ending in eternity, just the cyclic nature of unity through duality back to unity,” the Editor said.
Jon blinked. “I am sorry. I am so lost.”
“Yeah, you are,” the Editor agreed, thumping Jon’s forehead. “Cause you won’t open your fucking eyes and orientate. Every water molecule has a chance at ascension.”
“Well, that can’t be true,” Jon said.
“OMG” Fribourg said. “You would argue with god himself.”
“Yeah, if He said something asinine like, only men should be in charge,” Jon said. “I never said that,” the Editor said.
“But neither did you direct your son to pick some female disciples,” Jon pointed out. “He picked Mary!” the Editor said.
“Like that wasn’t confusing, picking someone who shared the name of his mother. Wait wait wait, is that Electra complex or Oedpus Complex…”
“Depends on who you’re assigning what…” Fribourg offered.
“Oh, scrub that, water under the bridge now, and back to the water metaphor. Assuming oceans are the major part of the water cycle, water molecules at the bottom of the ocean don’t have equal chance at ascension, because the deeper you are, the more stable you are, therefore, not necessarily going to get a chance at being a cloud or making rainbows,” Jon said.
“Hence, narrow is the gate, wide is the path,” the Editor reminded him. Jon crossed his arms. “Ever heard of thermal vents? Or maybe they hitch a ride inside a creature. Yes, fish and lobster do drink water. Their lots of avenues for ascension.”
“Not equal,” Jon said.
“Who said the world was fair. I just said, everything has a chance,” the Editor said.
“So, you admit, a majority of molecules will not ascend,” Jon said. “People at the surface are more likely to ascend.”
“You make that sound like a bad thing,” the Editor said.
“Yeah! You made a world with disposable people who might never get to be back with you! And most of them will never even know it, and the ones that you allow the opportunity to ascend end up facing storms and waves, crashing on beaches, and thunderstorms and falling from the sky, and obstacles and chaos. I am tired. I just want to ascend and come home.”
“You have it backwards, son,” Morgan said. “Home is not up. Nor is it out,” the Editor said. “It’s in. Every water droplet, ever cloud, every star, every galaxy, all this is merely froth and permutations, dancing away from me and returning. That is simply the outer surface of something much grander than you ever imagined, and at the end of the cycle, it returns to me. Everything always returns to me, and I will embrace you with love and we will sort your experiences and put them into contexts that heal all wounds and radiate love which begins the next cycle. And I will tell you beautiful all the fireworks were and how glorious you were and bring you home.”
Jon paled.
“That’s scary. Is this even on topic? Do you have purpose for bringing us here?” Fribourg demanded.
“I am just curious how long you two are going to do this song and dance, because it’s getting old, and it’s time for something new and exciting. Though there is an occasional good variation on a theme, I am rather sick and tired of Hollywood trying to revive old films for new generations. Let them watch the originals! Let them watch foreign films. Grow up and realize there is more than one country in the world.”
“Right?!” Jon agreed. “I am so with you on that. OMG, I can so rant about the last Aliens movie.”
“How do you even know about that? You blew the world up before that movie was released,” Fribourg said.
“Updates from a parallel tangent from origin,” the Editor said.
“Really? Is there a Universe where Cameron is still in charge,” Jon asked. “Because that’s the movie I want to see.”
“I don’t know why you’re making such a fuss, Jon; you’re just like Hollywood. Do you know how many B-type, pornographic movies you have generated?” the Editor asked.
Fribourg chuckled. “He is my son.”
“No, he isn’t. You’re a tulpa,” the Editor said. “I told you!” Jon said.
“No you didn’t,” Fribourg said. “I so told you,” Jon said.
“Loxy was the first one who suggested I am a tulpa, not you. You were still chasing after me going, daddy, daddy, I love you please be the nice daddy I always wanted,” Fribourg said.
“I was so not doing that,” Jon said.
“You are such a liar. If anyone has the Luke complex, it’s you. Trying to save me and make me into what you want,” Fribourg said. “Did it ever occur to you to ask what I want?”
“You want to take over the Universe!” Jon said.
“Yeah, Pinky, that’ Brains do, and I want to instill some fucking order into the chaos!” Fribourg said. “Is that so wrong?”
“Um, yeah.” Jon said.
“That makes no sense!” Fribourg said. “You’re supposed to be all about law and order and ending chaos. Now you’re arguing for chaos?”
“I just needed you to be a father figure, tell some jokes, make me feel better,” Jon said.
“Play catch.”
“You fuckin hate catch!” Fribourg said.
“Not the point!” Jon said.
“Making the world better is how I make you better!” Fribourg said.
“No! It’s not. I just want love,” Jon said. “Why do you think you look like Adam Sandler? You’re much less intimidating than Christopher Walkens. And, you can’t have comedy without bad shit to make fun of.”
“No, you made me to feel superior. You wanted to school your dad in how to raise kids and be a better person, which made me a bad guy by default,” Fribourg said.
“Is that what you think?” Jon asked.
“Just because I am a tulpa doesn’t mean you’re better than me,” Fribourg said. “Yeah, it kind of does. It means I am charge and you have to do what I say,” Jon said.
“Doesn’t that make you exactly the kind of parent you’re telling me not to be. Talk about unexplored shadow work,” Fribourg said.
“Tell him I’m in charge,” Jon said to the editor.
“Really?” the Editor said, echoing Fribourg’s rebellion. “Cause you’re a Tulpa, too.”
“I am?” Jon asked. “You’re not about to break into a Dr Pepper theme song commercial, are you?”
“He is?” Fribourg asked. “Tulpas can make more tulpas?”
“OMG, you would be surprised by how many self-replicating tulpas there are. Believe me, even servitors if you let them run long enough, begin to think they know everything.
Anyway, basically, everything, every individual particle in the Universe is sentient, and when they aren’t joining forces to make bigger tulpas, like stars and planets, they get together and make little tulpas. Like plants, and fish, and people. Do you know how many tulpas can dance on the head of a pin? Do you know how many tulpas it takes to hold your present form? I, Sir, gave you sentience, and you passed it to your tulpas, and this is just how the tree of life works. It’s what we do.”
“So, if it’s what we do, why are you mad at us?” Jon asked.
“I am not mad, I am just wanting something original. I want new permutations to calculate,” the Editor said.
“But you’re the one who said there’s nothing new under the sun,” Fribourg said. “OMG, I didn’t say that! Someone said that, put my face on it, but here’s a new flash,
memes are not fucking facts,” the Editor said. “Look, Jon, Gaia and I are really impressed with the Squirrel world you created. You created that at a very early time in your development, super impressive. So much love and compassion there. It was extremely sophisticated. But this dance you’re doing with Fribourg is threatening that.”
“It was an escape,” Fribourg said. “He wasn’t dealing with his reality.”
“Yeah he was,” the Editor said. “How did you expect him to respond to his origin? Hit people back? Rape people back? Blow it up?”
“He did blow it up!” Fribourg said.
“With your help!” the Editor pointing out. “He gave you a choice. Actually, he gave everyone a choice. Kind of poetic justice. Everyone thinks enlightenment is peace and joy and pure fucking magic, everything goes your way kind of deal, but if you never work on your own shadows, there is some pretty scary shit in there when you finally turn on the lights.” He turned back to Jon. “Your world earned a commission. It earned the title World, and there are other wanting to visit there. You now have your own Universe. Lots of actresses are lining up to show their breasts just to get in. Some trans, too, cause they know you’re accepting and there is a universal restroom. It’s an incredibly safe place for folks to come and heal and I am happy you are finally sharing it. So many people create heavens and find themselves alone because they are so not accepting of variations from their norms, and your generation is probably the worst offenders. Why would anyone want to marry someone just like them? How absurd is that?!
Different is good. Variation is good.”
“And same is bad?” Fribourg asked.
“If you put that on a meme card and attach my face, I am so going to smite you,” the Editor said.
“Why couldn’t you have picked Gene’s version of Willy Wonka as the Editor?” Fribourg asked Jon. “He makes perfect meme photo opts. So many captions go with him.”
“Did you not see what happens to children in that movie?” Jon asked. “It was educational,” the Editor agreed.
“It was funny,” Fribourg added. “They got what they deserved.”
“No one ever gets what they deserve,” Jon said.
“Thank God,” the Editor said. “You finally got it. But if you try sometimes, you get what you need. And I need you two stop wreaking havoc through other people’s worlds.”
“Other people’s worlds?” Fribourg asked. “You mean like, Timothy’s world? He fucking invited me!”
“Only I can use the F word here,” the Editor said.
Fribourg lowered his head, sulking, gripping the edge of his chair.
“Could you be more precise in informing us exactly what you want us to do?” Jon asked. “No, I can’t,” the Editor said. “That defeats the whole purpose of sentience, deviation,
evolution, autonomy, and individuation. Basically, just go make clouds and galaxies and return. That’s it.”
“But, people are whacked! You saw what they were doing to the Earth!” Jon protested. “I alone can’t stop that, and I can’t even get people to agree with the science. Even if I commiserate and say the science is whacked and just appeal to good common sense and that we need to be good stewards, people keeping dumping trash into the ocean, and not just plastic bags and coke can holders that catch up turtles and fill whale guts, but awful shit, like nuclear rods from subs that have been scuttled!”
“It’s his own fault,” Fribourg said, trying to ease Jon’s anger. The Editor gave him a look that said, ‘explain that.’ “He basically just said there is ultimately no good or evil, just choices. No ultimate consequence.”
“There are always consequences,” the Editor said. “Most of them are emotional. You’re either coming towards me or away from me, towards others, away from others. There is actually a hell.”
“You send people to hell?” Fribourg asked. “Because they don’t agree with your paradigm? Kind of makes you Hitler, right?”
“No, you create hells and wrap it around yourselves, and try hiding in it like a petulant child under a blanket,” the Editor said. “And though I am with you, you can’t see me. Some of the people in your realities are visitors. Some are actors, key players inserted to help you grow or change. Like Loxy. I so created that for you. But most the players are self-generated tulpas giving you what you think you deserve. Which ultimately means, when you hurt others, you are hurting yourself. There is a reason why I said love others like you love yourself. Now that’s a meme you could put my picture on.”
“Maybe you should update that to say love others like you yourself want to be loved, because many people don’t love themselves,” Jon said.
“And where were you when I was writing the browser code of life?” the Editor said. “In the far recesses of your mind?” Jon asked.
“Good point,” the Editor said.
“Wait wait wait. If all of that were true, narcissistic people would live in paradise, by definition,” Fribourg said.
“Did you not watch the Twilight Zone growing up?” the Editor asked. “Paradise is hell. If you’re getting your way and people are kissing your ass, you are so not where you think you are.”
“So, is this it? We just keep doing this song and dance forever?” Jon asked.
“Your world just started, Jon,” the Editor said. “Ask me that again in six or seven billion years. Let’s see where you take it.”
“But, I am tired. All those times I have needed you and called out to you and you weren’t there to change the script. You never ripped the fucking blanket off me and said, ‘I got you.’” Jon said, almost in tears.
“OMG, you’re so not going to cry again, are you? You’re always fucking crying, you big baby!” Fribourg said.
“Fuck you. I am hurting and I want to be loved,” Jon said.
The editor took Jon in his arms and rocked him like a child. “I got you,” the Editor said. “Shhhh, I got you. Rest assured, if you needed an intervention, the whole Universe would have responded to you. But you were doing great. We are all so proud of you. You could have gone so many other ways, but you held on to the good fight. Though you felt alone, you were so loved.”
“It has been so hard,” Jon said.
“I know,” the Editor said. “I know.”
“Why would you allow me to create such horrid things?” Jon asked. “In doing so, you also created beauty and contrast,” the Editor said. “I created Fribourg!” Jon said.
Fribourg pouted.
“And he brought you right back to me, and now I got you,” the Editor said.
“And now what?” Jon asked. “You’re just going to put me down again and ignore me?”
“Childhood is over, Jon. It’s time to start some serious work,” the Editor said. “Like complete college, help others heal, bring more love to the Universe. You and I have all eternity, and we will continue to interact and grow in our participation with each other.”
“And what do I do with Fribourg?”
“Not all children are easy to love, but they are as much a part of us as the best child,” the Editor said. “Love him.”
“And if I need you?” Jon asked.
“Speak out loud, I will hear you,” the editor said. “Give one of those histrionic looks at the camera, and you will hear me laugh. Go amaze me with love and light and magic and sophisticated dialogue. Show me romances. Give me pornos, I am okay with that, too. Even the solitary kind with faces of beautiful agony. Show me kindness. Make me laugh. Give me songs to sing and steps to dance. Amaze me with worlds and creatures still unseen. Re-write fucking Aliens so that it looks like Cameron is in charge. Offer a space for my heart to heal from sadness. Offer me hope.” And then the Editor began to sing. “Open thou mine eyes, and I shall see.
Incline my heart, and I shall desire. Order my steps, and I shall walk, in the ways, of thy commandments.”
It was a spiritual song, conducted John Rutter. The story behind the song is as inspirational as the song itself. The song was completely written in the author’s head, as he sat by his daughter bedside who was in a coma. When the last note was penned to paper, the child woke. Others came out of the shadows, singing with the Editor, Fribourg took up the chorus. Loxy and the whole cast were suddenly there, singing. It was the kind of song that could wake the deepest parts of you, send shivers up and down your spine, and nourish your soul. Jon fell asleep in the Editor’s arms…
Jon woke back in his world, his pillow wet, tears falling off his face. He sat up. Loxy was there, prominent, in his face. Keera, Alish, Fersia, Lester, everyone was there.
“Are you okay?” Loxy asked.
“OMG,” Jon said. “Do you know how Dorothy woke up back in Kansas after the most amazing dream and realized everyone who was present was also in Oz?”
“Yeah,” Loxy said. “Is that what you’re experiencing?”
“Not yet, but wouldn’t that be great?” Jon asked.
Loxy hugged Jon. “It so would,” she agreed. “Until then, we got you.”