02 – The Miracle Worker
Dear Homo Sapiens of Earth:
Legend has it that in the snows of Kilimanjaro, the carcass of a plains leopard was found. No one knows what it had gone all the way up there to seek. But when this human creature climbed the mountain, he knew, for he was there to seek the very same thing, which the leopard evidently succeeded in finding.
At pain of extra weight, he carried a gun, not that there was much to hunt, nor to fear – but the gun itself. In four daily segments, he had made the snow line, where he dismissed his guide and porter without explanation. Another half-day’s solitary ascent brought him to this ice-cave part way up the glacier, into the depths of which he had withdrawn, from the world and from himself.
Some say that when one is about to die, ones past life would flash before ones eyes. While he was sitting there, shivering in the descending cold, in the meditative position that seemed fitting for his final contemplation, his past life did not exactly flash by, but was instead painstakingly replayed, episode by episode, scene by scene, which were then drained into the dungeon of his mind already brimming with pain, anger, guilt, disenchantment, purposelessness and despair.
Failing to pull the trigger after some eon-long minutes, he had set the deadline for the fatal moment, that by the time the last glow of day had faded, either his head would have been blown apart, or he would deem himself a terminal coward. In the latter case he would slink back to the meaningless existence he had climbed up here to escape, but thereafter it would be just his body undergoing the physical processes of survival, for his soul would have since irretrievably been lost.
It was when he could no longer discern the fingers of his free hand held out before his eyes, and his gun hand had started trembling from the cold and fatigue, and his trigger finger had become numb from the strain, that I finally addressed him for the first time.
“Forgive me for intruding at this final moment of your privacy,” I whispered to him, “so I will be brief, if you will allow me…”
It was not exactly a voice that he had heard, for all his ears could hear was the whistling of the wind at the mouth of the cave, but rather, a clear and unmistakable thought that seemed to have come from far beyond, or deep within, which had somehow materialized in his mind.
It is possible to plant a thought in ones mind, you know. All you’d need is a detailed 3D map of the subject’s neuronal circuitry, which could be scanned within minutes given our technology, and induce a few new axon-dendrite connections in the exact places. But I’m not here to talk high biotech, which in fact is forbidden in the interstellar protocol.
Sorry, I digressed. Well, for at least a hundred of his remaining heartbeats he did not respond, and I spoke again, “Sorry to intrude in this final moment of your privacy, but we might run out of time. What I was saying is that I’m seeking a miracle worker, to work a miracle upon this Earth, for her sake and on my behalf. Since you appear to have no further use for this body of yours, this earthly instrument at your disposal, which obviously is in excellent working condition, will you donate it to me, such that the purpose of this my sojourn on this planet be fulfilled?”
This notion was clearly so outlandish and alien to him that he could hardly claim it as his own. So the first question that leapt to his mind was, “Who are you?”
So I told him truthfully, “I am Raminothna, the Fortunate and Called Upon, at your service.” Again, of course, no sound was involved, so the name Raminothna was more a feel, a vibration.
“Say again?” He just wanted to “hear” my “voice” and my name again.
“I am Raminothna, the Fortunate and Called Upon, at your service.”
“Ra-mi-noth-na? Be it as it may, that’s just a name. WHAT are you, then?”
“What am I? Yes, one of the deepest of all universal philosophical questions. I can say only this: Once you have come to know what you are, you will know what I am.”
“Look, I have no inclination, nor the time, for a philosophical discussion right now.”
“Your inclination is your choice, and you have all the time in the world.”
“If not now, when?”
“Maybe never. Who cares?”
“I do.” And I DO!
“Alright, fine. Whoever, whatever you are, let’s get this over and done with. What do you want?”
“As I said, I’m asking you to be my miracle worker, to work a miracle upon this Earth, for her sake and on my behalf.”
“For me to perform a miracle? Obviously I can’t, even if I wanted to.”
“Is this a yes?”
“Is it a no then?”
“Yes. No. I don’t know.”
“What exactly is it?”
“I mean, look at me. Do I look like a miracle worker to you? I can’t even exert five ounces of pressure on the trigger, let alone perform a miracle.”
“What does a miracle worker look like?”
“The last one I know looked like Jesus Christ.”
“And what does Jesus Christ look like?”
Da Vinci’s Last Supper materialized in my mind.
“What are these creatures?”
“The thirteen creatures depicted in this painting.”
“They are human beings, for Christ’s sake!”
“Which among these human beings is Jesus Christ?”
“The one in the middle.”
“What makes him different from the rest? They all look essentially the same to me – all human, that is, as human as you.”
“He had God in him.”
“What is God.”
“Go ask the pope.”
“Where is God?”
“Everywhere. Omnipresence – or so I’ve been told.”
“Including the space currently occupied by your body?”
“Then you have God in you as well.”
“Look. Just like the other twelve in the painting, in fact, like the other seven billion human beings on Earth today, I’m no miracle worker. Can’t you just accept that? Let me give you a piece of advice. You are wasting your time to seek a miracle worker amongst us human beings. Those who apparently could make an elephant or themselves disappear are just illusionists using smoke and mirror. You are barking up the wrong tree.”
“No! You are the one who want to talk about miracles. You define it!”
“Very well. Let’s say this: A miracle is an impossible physical feat with a profound spiritual significance.”
“So you’re saying I can perform not only an impossible physical feat, but one with a profound spiritual significance?”
“I’m glad we finally got this point straight. So now I can say, definitively, no ifs and buts, and for the last time, I cannot do the impossible, and for those possible things that I’ve done, none was of any significance whatsoever, which means, therefore, that I am not a miracle worker, period…”
“If I prove to you that you can, will you?”
“… and even if I were, I would not lift one finger to glorify this selfish, heartless, cruel and destructive species which I am ashamed to admit to be my own…”
“If I prove to you that you can, will you?”
“… and in fact, the more power we have, the worse we get… What did you say?”
“If I prove to you that you can, will you?”
“What kind of proof?”
“Let me give you a basic one. I tell you that you can raise ten gallons of water from the plain 18,000 feet below up to here, in liquid form from beginning to end, all in the matter of five days, without artificial aid of any kind.”
“Ten gallons of water? 18,000 feet? Without artificial aid of any kind? No buckets? No hoses? No pumps? No boilers? No condensers?”
“None, except the clothes you are now wearing, and the boots on your feet.”
“Impossible, even with buckets.”
“Thus, according to our definition, miraculous, considering its profound spiritual significance.”
“What spiritual significance?”
“First and foremost, that you are a miracle worker.”
“Indeed. With no beginning and no end.”
“I can’t produce this proof for you, I’m sorry.”
“You already have.”
“You have already raised the water.”
“The water you’ve already raised up.”
“All ten gallons of it, I suppose.”
“And all in liquid form, as stipulated, minus your sweat, to be more exact.”
“And where is this water I have raised up without artificial aid of any kind?”
“Right where you are.”
He glanced around. “I see lots of ice, but it’s been here for eons, and certainly not due to me. Besides, it is in solid form. Liquid water? There is not a drop in sight, except the couple of pints still in my flask, and the flask is an artificial aid.”
“Well then, you’ll just have to show it to me.”
“Before I do, you must promise me one thing.”
“O Lord! What now?”
“The power of miracle is not to be abused.”
“Sure, no problem. If I do have this power, I will never abuse it. Okay?”
“Nor to be neglected.”
“Nor will I neglect it. Fine!”
“Then, look inward, inside your skin, where you will find, flowing through your arteries and veins, and liver and brain, ten gallons of warm, living water. You can baptize the world’s lost souls with it, and quench the world’s thirst for truth with it, and dissolve with it the despair of humankind. With this sacred water, you can change your world, even save your Earth.”
He thought for a moment, of his own accord, then said, “A trans-dimensional trick.”
“Oh, is it? Let’s see. Alright, how about something concrete, undeniable and indisputable. Here is a pile of charcoal, a pile of limestone, a tank of hydrogen, a tank of oxygen, a spoonful of salt, a little of other elements and compounds. Now, I want you to mix them up together in such a way that the entire mass of them can, say, rise up against gravity, or pull the trigger, as you will it. Wouldn’t it be miraculous?”
“If I could make it, both the making and it would be miraculous.”
“It can even write a book, you know.”
Although it is mid-night, already, there is a certain dawning in his eyes. Without his being aware of it, as the moonlight filtered through the ice onto the blue steel of his gun, which had settled itself into his lap, on which glistened a drop of his liquid tears.
So, softly I said unto him, “Henceforth, I shall see through your eyes, hear through your ears, feel through your heart, think through your brain, and work through your hands, until your greater miracle is accomplished. May the Tao be with you, Homo Sapiens of Earth.”
I am Raminothna
the Fortunate and the Called Upon
at your service
Anthony Marr, Founder and President
Heal Our Planet Earth (HOPE)
Global Anti-Hunting Coalition (GAHC)