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Subject: +*+*+*+ Solomon's Private File #48 "Museum of African Art" +*+*+*+
Date: Fri, 19 Jun 2015 18:18:59 -0400
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Solomon's Private File #48
These stories about Stephen and Solomon take place starting in
1950's. Stephen wrote about his life in letters to a penpal, and then
in a secure blog, in case he lost his memory again, in the master
computer in his school for gifted students, which he started attending
in 2016 in a new incarnation, until his death. Now his son Solomon is
attending the same school, and is writing in his own secure blog for
his future incarnations.
All characters are fictitious, even if some of them might have names
that belong to some actual people, or act like people we know.
Solomon is 15 in this story, in the Summer of 2041.
Solomon's Private File #48 "Museum of African Art"
START Page
I asked for a meeting with the Mormons. I ported to the meeting room,
and we had introductions. I said, "Any questions?" One said, "Why now?"
I said, "I just had a meeting with the Pope's representative. So, to be
major religions when I was eleven. They were the most welcoming, not
knowing who I was, and appreciative of intelligence and education. We
just fit together well." He said, "Why not our religion?" I grinned,
and said, "With my off center sense of humor?" Most smiled. He said, "I
see. It does fit."
I said, "I've done some research, before and after I asked my father
to do some time research before he croaked. I have something maybe nice
to tell you. Wow! I don't think I've ever seen religious leaders so
hungry looking before, outside of a Catholic Altar Boy meeting! It's
like I'm covered in gold plates, or something." Some chuckles and
laughter. One said, "Your humor. We do appreciate it." I said, "Er,
thanks. Your founder. Some of what people believed were his scams, he
actually believed in. And, could actually do. Yes, he did have a
psychic talent for finding things. His problem was he believed a little
too much in its reliably, and sometimes couldn't deliver, and er,
didn't want to return the money he had already spent. That was
partially caused by trying too hard. Strong emotion interferes with
that ability. And he was NOT one who did well in controlling his
emotions." One said, "That last, we know. But how do you know the
rest?"
I said, "Because I could do that, and more, before I became fully
psionic myself, which really surprised my father. I discovered how,
too, which, well, flabbergasted him. He realized he had almost
completely ignored an entire branch of psionics, in concentrating on
the Eastern Chakra science, that doesn't require a fully open Third
Eye. I knew about your guy, so I asked him to look into it. So here we
are. I thought you'd like to know." One said, "Thank you very much. Not
so much for telling us, but that you cared." I said "You're welcome."
One said, "Is there something you could demonstrate?" I said, "You
really should eat something before these meetings." Chuckles. I ported
a bowl of water to the table. I said, "I used this demonstration to
astound my people." A ball of ice slowly formed in the middle. I said,
"They couldn't figure out how I did it, and couldn't do it themselves.
And that was with multiple doctorates in almost everything, and the
highest IQ of probably 4,000. I suppose you want to know, yourselves."
One said, "I'll say it. Absolutely!" I grinned and said, "Thanks. I
transferred the molecular motion of heat, from a portion in the middle
of the bowl, a little bit at a time, to the surrounding water, to make
a nice round ball form in layers like a pearl. Want to know something
I've never told anybody else? Oh wow, I guess you do!" Chuckles. I
said, "I didn't have to do it slowly then, or now. I could have frozen
the whole thing solid in almost an instant, by transferring the heat
energy to the air in the room. Oh, alright." And it was all ice. I
said, "Our regular Adepts could do that by absorbing all the energy
into their bodies, but my way doesn't require somebody to be an Adept.
Just half of one, as we measure it. Right. It can't be taught to
everybody, but if you know anything about me, you know I still have to
try. A true scientist never takes anything for granite. It could be
agate." A little confusion and some odd grins. I said, "Oh, right. I
don't have to tell people who I am. Not after that happens." Nods and
chuckles.
I said, "You're doing nice work with Scientology. Thanks. They think
they're doing nice work with you." Grins. One said, "Actually, they
are, but not in ways that affect our religion. Many of us have become
better thinkers, more able in a lot of ways." I said, "So my Dad's
strange matchmaking is working." They nodded. I said, "I suppose you
are not horribly sad that the Catholics are not, and would never want
to be, involved with anything like this. If you're not careful, you
could almost split your faces with those grins." Chuckles. I said, "I
should be going before your faces crack. But before that, my father
stood and held out my arms. Without hesitation, they came for my hugs
with love. Then I said, "May our God always be with you." I ported
home.
Mom said, "That was very nice of you." I said, "I liked doing it.
Selfish of me." She said, "They believe Native Americans are a lost
Tribe of Israel." I said, "Not even a bull would crap that." She had to
laugh.
I said, "We are in the National Museum of African Art. Some people
might be wondering why there is such a National American Museum which
is devoted to the art of another continent. Being a nation of
immigrants, it's very reasonable to devote some space to the source of
largest group of mostly involuntary immigrants in our history. And the
art is unique and beautiful, and has become a significant influence in
our cultural history, and knowledge of that could be lost if we don't
preserve it. Sharon, if you keep nodding like that, you might cause
yourself an injury." She said, "I'll try not to. I just couldn't help
admiring how well you expressed that." Don said, "I agree. Solomon, do
you prepare what you say in advance?" I said, "I don't plan what I say
here. I just say what comes to me. Some of the more unusual things I
say, kind of escape before I can catch them." He said, "Oh. Good." I
said, "It's alright. Dad didn't trademark that." He grinned.
Beth said, "I don't know what you mean by that." Don said, "I'll take
that, as I was often a target. When Stephen said something that
frustrated me on air, and I mentioned it, he said, 'Good.' Which made
it even more frustrating. He did that to enhance his teaching." Brian
said, "Why?" I said, after Don visibly passed the ball to me, "Changing
long held beliefs can be frustrating. In fact, many people find
thinking out of their usual mental habits, a strain, and frustrating,
and so avoid it. Dad was making people realize that with that comment.
In other words, if he said something you should know, that frustrates
you, that could be a sign that you really needed it. The 'good' comment
was a little extra push for it, with a little humor mixed in to make
the medicine taste a little better. There is more. Some of the world's
best thinking and inventions came from people being frustrated. And our
American Revolution. Yes, we are here today as a nation, because some
people became VERY frustrated with their current state of affairs, and
decided to fix it. And they did, and we are still doing it. America is
not perfect. It can't be, because our ideas of what is perfect are
constantly changing. It is our duty as citizens of this great nation to
help improve our country for all who live in it, as much as we can.
Learning about it, its history and how it made us who we are today, is
part of that. Here in this museum is an example of a great change in
America." Brian said, "Right. No more slavery."
I said, "But slavery didn't actually end with the official abolition
of slavery, and the end of the Civil War." He said, "What do you mean?"
I said, "It's what people do all the time when they are forbidden to do
something they really want to do. They call it something else. In this
instance, it was contract labor, also known as indentured servitude
when it was abused. The plantation owners had lost all their money, and
their workforce. The former slaves had no means of earning an income on
their own. So a contract labor system was created. A worker had a
contract and was paid. But he had to pay the company for housing and
food. Strange, that the money for both sides of that was very like
equal. And the contract could be sold to another owner, er, employer,
at a whim, and was legally enforced. There was another system for a
former slave to earn a living. He could become a sharecropper. The
whites owned all the land. Freed slaves couldn't buy any, even if any
were available. There were many ways to prevent it, including murder.
But the land owners didn't have any slaves to work for them, so they
rented plots of land to the former slaves, for a portion of the crops
they raised on it. NOT an easy way to farm for the former slaves, but
no risk at all for the land owners. Those systems existed in some
places for a hundred years or more."
Brian said, "Wow! Why wasn't it stopped?" I said, "It was legal. It
still is, in principle. Except for the ridiculously high salaries, it's
how some sports leagues operate." He said, "Oh!" Beth said, "It's still
not right." I said, "What is right, which changes depending on who you
speak to, doesn't have much to do with the law, which is supposed to be
above personal opinions. Nothing is perfect. Any system can fall prey
to abuse. When it is so widespread and protected by local and state
governments, it's very difficult to change without going to war again.
So, think about this. When they say 'The South Shall Rise Again', what
do they really mean? And what is the color of who's saying it?" Even
Sharon said, "Wow!" I said, "Did I say anything that's actually
incorrect? Don?" Don said, "We've reported on some of the things you
said. So have other networks. Your views are not significantly
different from what our own research has shown. I have to ask. In a
former life, were you a slave in the South?"
I said, "I couldn't understand why I was taken from my mother. She
didn't want me to go. I cried a lot, and was very angry when the master
had her whipped. I tried to take the whip away from my uncle. I didn't
know why he was doing it. He kept saying he had to, and he was crying
while he was whipping her. I didn't understand that, either, but I knew
the master was making him do it. I ran to the master and kicked his
shins. He kicked me in the stomach. Hard. I fell down and threw up. He
kicked me in the head. I woke up in a hole in the ground. I hurt very
badly. My whole insides were on fire, and only one eye was working. I
couldn't move. I couldn't speak. Not even when the dirt fell on me. I
yelled at them to stop, but I didn't have a voice. There was no sound,
but from the dirt still falling on me, like hard dark rain. I was
desperate. Frantic, but still. Nothing of me moved. I could see one
white face among all the black faces. I remember that, because it was
the only face that spit on me. Then I couldn't see. The dirt was on my
face. Then more dirt. A dark warm blanket pressing me into the ground.
The last thing I remember is trying to breathe and failing, and hearing
my mother screaming my name, over and over, like she wanted us both to
remember it forever. But I was only seven. I didn't know why I died, or
why I had lived."
We were all crying then, even the crew. I said to Don, "I think I
answered your question a little too well." He nodded, unable to speak,
and we all traded hugs. I said, "Now you know why people who remember
past lives, don't want to." He and Sharon nodded. We toured the rest of
the museum, and discussed the art. Then it was over. We all hugged each
other, and went home the usual way. Dex was the first to hug me. Then
the kids. Some were crying again. I said, "I'm sorry I did that to
you." Ed said, "It's not your fault. You did right. The world should
know." I said, "At least I didn't show them pictures." Daren said, "You
said your father time researched your lives for you. Did he did it for
that one?" I said, "I didn't tell him which ones. He could see them in
me. I have them in a compartment, and backed up on crystals, but I
haven't examined them. I don't really want to. Wouldn't be necessary
for this one. I could have showed the them dirt falling on me, but I
might have projected my feelings of that time, too. Would be a BAD
thing." They agreed.
The next day the producer called me. He said, "That life. Your story
had us all in tears back at the studio." I said, "My people, too. I
wish I hadn't told it. I really don't like making people feel bad!" He
said, "I understand. I don't want to ask you this, but do you know
where it took place?" I said, "I haven't examined that life in detail.
"You were lucky I didn't make you feel what I felt, and saw what I saw
then. That's what total recall is. You want to find the body, if
possible. Think ahead. What will it do to the people who own the land
now? How will the descendants of that master feel about it, and about
how the public might feel about them because of this going public? Do
THEY deserve any of that?" He said, "I didn't think of that." I said,
"That's one of your problems, like it is for all the media. You think
only for the moment, the story you can tell, not about the innocent
people you could hurt with it. I know you care, but you just don't
think about those consequences, in your strong pursuit of the story.
There is more than one kind of responsibility in what you do. In all of
what we do. More people should think about that, than they do. The
world would be a better place, then." There was silence for a while.
Then he said, "Can you give me a recording of this call?" I said,
laugh when he said, "And including that, please." I said, "Done. On
your desk."
I got a call from the network president. He said, "I want to thank
you for all you do for us and the world." I said, "And that is a
prelude to? Or said another way; now that you've done one side, are you
going to butter the other side, too?" He chuckled and said, "You've got
me! I should do this more often. Your comments are priceless." I said,
"Good. That way you can't demand a refund." He chuckled. He said, "The
more I know of you, the more I like and respect you." I said, "I sense
a 'but' in there. Who's, and how hard am I going to have to kick it?"
He really laughed. I said, "Lucky Hawk isn't listening, or we wouldn't
be able to hear anything but him, now." He said, "Is he going to hear
it?" I said, "Yes. This counts as work, so I'm being monitored. It
usually gets passed around. They say it's for educational purposes.
Sure! As if people really need to learn how to laugh." He laughed. I
said, "There! Proof." He said, "I was going to ask you if we can make
what you said to my producer, public. All of it on the card." I said,
"Would you include this conversation as well?" He thought for a moment,
and said, "If you agree, yes." I said, "The Navajo seriously dislike
disturbing the dead. Be careful, or my family might not like you as my
Ghoul-friend." He laughed really loudly. I said, "Yes, you can use all
this. Good luck in explaining my last comment." Chuckles and thanks.
Mom and Hawk really liked what I said and did. Well, Hawk tried to
say that, while laughing really hard. What the public said was
different. Really mixed, but a lot of analyzing comments. Some of that
I liked. I WANT them to analyze what I say. Might actually cause some
useful thinking. I said that to Chad, and he looked at me strangely. He
said, "You make up those comments for that?" I said, "No. They just
happen, but I think my motives could help cause them." He said, "I
should have known. You're very interested in why people do things. Your
first and best subject for study would be yourself." I said, "True, but
boring. A little small, as a representative sample." He grinned. He
said, "You're stingy with your lives." I said, "Yes. But I'll reveal
them when I should. I don't want to, but we are given those lives, and
the memories of them, for a purpose. The Big Boss doesn't do that for
fun. That means I have to make them count. But not until they should.
My name then was Jemmy." We shared our tears, and love.
At the office, it was different again. My new statements had been
aired. It wasn't awe and amazement they gave me then, but sadness and
respect. Hugs, too. My clients were feeling things, too. I said to one
of them, "The mood today. Solomon again?" She said, "I think so. People
are talking so much about him and what he said, it's slowing everything
down." I said, "Maybe he'll stop." She said, "I hope not!" I said, "Oh,
why?" She said, "He says things we need to hear, but in a way we can
understand and like. That's why he affects us like this. We think about
things we didn't think about before, that we should have." I said,
"Thank you for confirming what I suspected. Stuck in here, I don't get
out as much as I'd like, to see what's really going on out there." She
smiled and said, "I understand."
Then I was called to the Director's office. He said, "Your Iranians
got into it with each other, just as you predicted. Made so much noise,
we had to take them, which gave us an excuse to make sure they didn't
have any idea your character gave them up." I said, "Have they talked
about me?" He grinned, and said, "I knew you would want to know that.
Not a word. Yes, you were very successful. Can I use you again?" I
said, "Oh, nice. Actually asking." He chuckled. I said, "I don't know.
We'll see. Just in case, I did some more training in the skills I might
need for that." He asked with interest, "Which skills?" I said,
"Martial arts and stealth. Sometimes it isn't the best idea to use
psionics in such situations." He said, "You weren't good in those
things before?" I said, "Right. Wasn't interested. I was a good
fighter, but not great. Now, Hawk, our best, can't lay a hand on me.
I'm still not interested, but when I do something, I go all the way."
He said, "Wow!" I said, "That, too." He chuckled.
END Page
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Grant
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