When Richard Marx wrote “Right Here Waiting,” he never meant to publish it. He wrote the song in 2010 as a personal message to his girlfriend and actress, Cynthia Rhoads. At the time, Rhoads was in South Africa making a film. Since Skype or Google Meets didn’t exist, Marx shipped the track directly to Rhoads. Marx wrote the song in twenty minutes. His friends were so moved by it that they convinced the artist to publish it. The song went on to become one of Marx’s biggest hits.
Prior to this blog post, I had never heard of Richard Marx. I was only vaguely aware of the song. When I heard the beginning of the song on a Facebook reel, I was inspired to learn it. Now that I’ve read the backstory, I agree with Marx’s friends. “Right Here Waiting” is a truly moving and beautiful ode to long-distance love. Marx plays a piano accompaniment. I’ve composed a guitar background. Here’s my cover.
Here is CHAPTER ONE of a new manuscript I’m working on.
“What have you got for me, Faulk?”
Eying my supervisor, Clive Borinsky, I wonder, for the four hundredth time, why he only calls me by my last name. Despite the gaping holes in my science training, I am Deputy First-Class Investigator Derrick Faulk. I hold the highest investigator rank in the National Science Service, a division of the National Security Authority. Our organization’s primary mission is to ensure that the rapid pace of scientific and technological advancement does not run amuck and consequently destroy the world.
Somewhere around four hundred instances of disrespect have finally worn me down.
“Would it trouble you to call me Agent Faulk?”
Sitting next to me, my associate, Aurora Zolotov, turns her head to the wall painted a dismal shade of green. The subtle shake of her body tells me she is stifling a laugh. Aurora is as colorful, beautiful, and other-worldly as the Northern Lights, after which she is named. I have tried not to have feelings for her, but I am steadily succumbing to the onslaught of her charms. After working with Aurora for nearly six months, I find it difficult to resist her radiant beauty and personality. The most maddening aspect of the situation is that Aurora does not make the slightest effort to affect me the way she does.
Borinsky glares at me. He finally decides to ignore my remark. “It’s been twenty-four hours since the unauthorized file copy has been missing. You and your partners better have some good news for me.”
“Our forensic IT team has thoroughly examined AndroBiotica’s IT systems,” I answer. “They have determined that no exterior cyber breach occurred. We’ve questioned each IT employee extensively. The forensics team scanned their computers. We found no examples of wrongdoing by any employee.”
Borinsky places his elbows on the desktop of his workstation, hunches his shoulders, and leans toward us.
“Are you saying the file disappeared into thin air?”
“We are saying it is reasonably certain the IT Department is not responsible for the theft,” Brendt Williams offers.
I cringe inwardly. At this moment, I want to strangle Brendt. He is the remaining member of our team. A handsome, trim, affable man in his mid-thirties with a full head of blond and prematurely graying hair, Aurora and I find Brendt marginally useful, thanks mainly to his overly logical mind. Sitting atop Brendt’s superstructure of qualifications is a conspicuous lack of intuition. Only the top two percent of our profession possess this essential trait sufficiently to handle a crisis of this magnitude. Brendt’s other capabilities have propelled him to the sixty-seventh floor to complement our team. And so, we are stuck with him. At least he means well.
“Reasonably certain is not good enough,” Borinsky explodes. “I want you to be dead sure!”
“We are more than reasonably certain,” I quickly interject. “Agent Williams’ choice of words is unfortunate. He intended to say we have high confidence in our findings so far.”
Borinsky is a man in his late forties who looks like he smokes three packs of sagarillos a day and is somewhere in his late sixties. His eyes look like the double-door entrance to a bomb shelter after a cold fusion holocaust. I’d feel sorry for the man if I didn’t hate him intensely.
“Do you have anything to add, Agent Zolotov?”
“I believe agent Faulk has given you an accurate update on our progress.”
“Are you telling me that ninety-five percent of AndroBiotica’s employees remain under suspicion?”
“That’s one way to put it, Director. I am confident we will find ze culprit or culprits quickly by ze application of superior deductive techniques and intuition.”
I’ve observed that Aurora tends to revert to her native accent when under pressure.
“Our next target is the Science Department,” I add to inform Borininsky and deflect his attention.
Borinsky glances at the updated computer interface on his compact and super-efficient workstation. Despite his exalted position, the man has failed to make his office feel like anything but a prison cell.
“Get on with it, then. I have work to do. I’d say you have another forty-eight hours at the outside to get the file back before all hell breaks loose.”
We scurry out of Borinsky’s office like squirrels evading a predator. Waiting for the bullet elevator, I tell Agent Williams to re-interview the IT employees. I observe him wilt visibly.
“Do you think that’s a good use of our time? There are only three of us on the case.”
Two and a half, I think to myself.
“Because you opened your big mouth in Borinsky’s office, it is now necessary to waste time. Borinsky will surely ask us if we did the re-interviews.”
The elevator arrives. We descend twenty-three floors in a matter of seconds. The elevator’s intelligent gimbals make it feel like we are standing still.
As the doors open on sixty-seven, I turn to Aurora. “You’ll handle backgrounding the scientists.”
She winks at me. “Of course.”
I wish she wouldn’t wink at me that way.
We go our separate ways. I head down the long corridor to my corner office.
The AndroBiotica File will be available in sixty to ninety days.
Actually, IT has arrived. The eBook–Not the catastrophe.
Download the eBook Free on Amazon Now Through July 11th, 2021
The Silver Sphere started out as five episodes posted intermittently on this blog. I’ve deleted the posts, re-written the story, and now it is available on AMAZON worldwide for only $1.49. Download it today and treat yourself to an engaging, fun, Science Fiction thrill ride. To whet your appetite, here’s Part One. Click on the Spotify button above if you’d like to listento a professional narratorread it.
PART ONE
Jacob
IT WASN’T REALLY a sphere.
I found it on the beach. Right at the water’s edge. Actually, I’m not entirely sure I found it. The sphere may have found me in some karmic sort of way. We’ll have to wait until later to sort it out because, as I will soon learn, time is in short supply.
First things first.
My name is Jacob Casell. Two days ago, I left a comfortable beach house to go out for a stroll in the middle of the night. The full moon and stars were my sole companions. I needed to think about the ending of my latest novel. I found the water and the salt air helped to stimulate my creative thinking.
The night was clear. I splashed my feet in the tips of the tides. I felt the crisp ocean breeze ruffling my longish hair as if it were saying, tell me your story. Before I could answer, I almost tripped and fell. A thing about the size of a basketball rocked gently in the water at my feet. I had the distinct feeling it was looking up at me, even though it had no discernable eyes.
The thing at my feet was a shiny silver sphere punctuated by streamlined indentations on its sides. It had a hole in the center which, in the moonlight, revealed nothing but bottomless darkness. Hardly an eye. Not a human one, at least.
As I examined it, the sphere began to pulsate. I stepped a few feet away. The sphere flashed on and off like a strobe light. I wondered if the damn thing was about to explode. Suddenly, the sphere stopped strobing. Then, it spoke to me. A voice inside my head spoke in stilted English.
“Do not be alarmed,” the thing said. “The lighting effect was me reanimating my systems. No sense wasting energy while I was waiting for you to happen along. You certainly took your time, didn’t you? And, by the way, I’m not a ‘thing.’ I am a highly evolved organism. You can think of me as artificial intelligence. I am actually much more than an AI, but your mind is not capable of conceiving what I truly am.”
I drew back a few more steps thinking, I must be dreaming. This can’t be happening.
“For a man who writes novels, you display little imagination,” the sphere said.
I felt strangely comfortable speaking to the machine, as if speaking to a telepathic silver sphere was as everyday an occurrence as eating a tub of macaroni and cheese for dinner.
“How do you know I’m a writer?” I said out loud. I wasn’t in the habit of communicating telepathically, after all.
“I’ve absorbed quite a bit of information about you in the short time we’ve been together.”
“I’m not sure I like that.” I didn’t say it out loud this time. I thought it.
“It doesn’t matter if you like it or not.”
“It matters to me.”
It seemed like the machine was surprised by my response and needed time to process it. I pushed the advantage. “It sounds like you were expecting me.”
“I was expecting someone. I suppose you’ll do.”
“Uh huh. Do you have a name?”
“You can call me Arcon. A-R-C-O-N.”
“Got it. I suppose you came here from some far distant solar system?”
“Next you will ask me: ‘do I come in peace?’”
“Do you?”
“The answer is yes and no. I’m not here to hurt anyone, but there will be worldwide chaos if news of my mission leaks out.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s nothing compared to what will happen if you don’t help me to complete my mission.”
“Since you appear to know everything about me, you must realize that I’m not at liberty to help you. I’m past my deadline for turning in the final draft of a manuscript. My editor calls to scream at me daily.”
“There is a much bigger picture here than your manuscript. I’ll dispense with the formalities and call you by your first name which, naturally, I’ve learned without your help. I’m getting cold and tired of soaking in this sea water, Jacob. Please take me back to the beach house your wealthy friend has lent you.”
“But I just told you—”
“Pick me up, Jacob. If I miss my deadline, you won’t have to worry about yours.”
I choose to wander in sunlight to avoid the riptide of darkness threatening to engulf our world.
I prefer to see and hear beauty.
I endeavor to open my heart to love. Not the love that comes and goes. Rather, to eternal love.
I am human. I need love and beauty as much as air and water.
Lately, I’ve been bathing in beauty, love, and light by listening and playing music. Specifically, one person’s music. Listen to my cover of Kate Wolf‘s “Muddy Roads” recorded on her last album (1986) Poet’s Heart. Tell me what you hear and feel.
“When we are connected — to our own purpose, to the community around us, and to our spiritual wisdom — we are able to live and act with authentic effectiveness.”
The Edge Will Follow by Javolenus (c) copyright 2012 Ethereal Space by Snowflake (c) copyright 2011 Homework by gurdonark (c) copyright 2010 Reverie (small theme) by ghost (c) copyright 2010
Motivated people always know where they are going, the voice in my head tells me.
Nope. Wrong. Turns out we all must live with uncertainty. Talking to others more than I have in the past has served to underline this truth of daily existence.
Uncertainty is a driver. The question is: How do I keep it from driving me nuts?
Best way to beat it, I’ve found, is to stay connected to my family (thank God it’s functional) and to surround myself with people striving for the same goals. A community of like-minded people. I’m being deliberately vague here. Everyone has his or her unique tribe.
Most days I have a certain set of goals to accomplish. Some small. Some not so small. I always leave at least a little time to make it up as I go along. Some days are broad canvases waiting to be painted with…whatever. Other days are jam packed with things to do. Most of my days are consumed with a combination of survival needs and creative projects crying for attention.
Twenty years ago, I made the transition from the binding ties of a corporate job to the freedom of planning my days according to what I wanted to do.
Most people dream of this freedom, but I’ve learned that it comes with a price. Freedom is worthless without a purpose.
Without purpose, my mind wanders into bad neighborhoods. Worry. Anxiety. Depression. You know what I’m talking about.
I’ve discovered that my purpose changes as I change. I am like a sea captain adjusting my course as my inner landscape changes. My course also changes depending upon the feedback I get in response to my actions.
If I can’t get over an obstacle, I get around it. If I can’t do either, I find something else to do. When it becomes painfully obvious that I’ve hit a dead end, it’s time to move on.
There is a fine line between quitting and wisdom.
Recently, I had to admit to myself that, after spending twenty years writing screenplays and novels, it was no longer in my wheel house to do it. It hurt deeply to come to this conclusion. Once I got over myself, I realized that I’m much happier writing blogs to people who can appreciate them. I hope that’s you. I’m doing this for both of us.
Life is full of challenges. At this point, I believe the central point of human existence is to set up positive challenges as much as humanly possible. I don’t look for trouble. I try not to create unnecessary problems. Life is already hard enough, thank you very much.
Creating positive challenges helps to relieve my anxiety. They also take my mind off of the uncertainty.
I listen to my heart. I accept my needs and limitations. I move forward from where I am.
Still, the future remains stubbornly uncertain. All I am given is today. Let me make the most of it. I wish the same for you.
To say there is a lot going on these days is an understatement. To say most of it is very troubling will not shock anyone. To ask, “What can I do about it?” is a worthwhile question.
Can I trust politicians in this country, Republican or Democrat, to protect me? No.
Can I change the world through the political process? I don’t think so.
What can I do, then?
Here are a few ideas.
I can become a better person.
I can take precautions to keep myself coronavirus free and not infect others.
I can reduce the time I listen to the constant drumbeat of bad news.
I can use the extra time to pause and reflect upon something sublime for a change. I can look at life from a different perspective. I can ask myself these questions:
What if consciousness became curious and created this world, including you and me, simply to have the pleasure of experiencing itself?
What if consciousness had already created millions of worlds and dimensions before it created this one for the same simple purpose?
In other words, what if we owed our existence to the natural tendency of consciousness to expand and play?
If this is true, then why do I take myself so seriously?
If consciousness wants to have pleasure and play through me, then why is there so much destruction and suffering in the world?
Do we bring most of the suffering and destruction upon ourselves?
What if we found a way to make life less of a struggle?
What if we opened ourselves to the love and joy that must exist somewhere within us?
I downloaded this image randomly because I had no idea what to write about. Let’s see if we can have some fun with wordplay.
Airplanes have always interested me. They still do, as long as I don’t have to ride in coach. I used to make model planes as a kid. I only made the plastic variety, because the technique for making paper and balsa wood models always eluded me. They made it look so easy. And the finished product looked beautiful. Expert model plane makers painted them in custom colors. I never met anyone who could make one. You must possess a god-given talent to do it. You have be an artist, in the model plane sense. Chalk it up to an early encounter with limitations.
Talking about limitations, they didn’t bother me as a kid. Like most kids, I just went on to the next thing. No big deal.
Later in life, limitations became a big deal. It hurt to bump up against them. It hurt to see my dreams go down in flames. I had to learn to accept my limitations. Accepting limitations is a wise thing to do, but it’s definitely not fun. That’s why god gave us imaginations.
Q: Without imagination, where would I be?
A: I’d be Stuck in a cramped, bad news, and boring world. (There is only one event that can make the news worse these days: Nuclear War).
If I imagine ten things and can only make one of them happen, I’m better off.
If I imagine a better world for me, automatically the world around me changes for the better.
Okay, back to jet propulsion….My mind won’t let go of this imagination thing. No one, except myself, can stop me from having a jet-propelled imagination. People can laugh at me, including my wife, but I don’t care. I’ve pretty much lived in an imaginary world up to this advanced stage of life. I’m still here. I will not try to fix it if it ain’t broke. As you can imagine, living eighty percent of your life in an imaginary world has it’s advantages. It also has it’s disadvantages. And so on.
If I don’t do a better job of sticking to the topic, I’ll have to change the title of this post to “The Benefits of Using Your Imagination,” or something self-helpy like that.
Jet propelled. Hmmm….Who am I? Well, certainly not jet propelled. That narrows it down a bit. I can list all of the things I do and who I am in relationship to others, but I don’t want to bore you.
So, Who am I? Really?
I’ve learned that I’m essentially consciousness experiencing itself. I understand the concept, but the experience, the reality of it on a consistent basis, stubbornly refuses to ground itself in me. Another one of those limitations? Not really. I’m infinite and limited simultaneously. I believe it, even though it isn’t my everyday experience. I know people who experience it daily. It’s amazing that I even know them. There aren’t many people walking around who can honestly make this claim. Not that I’m special or anything. I’m just crazy enough to hang around with this tribe.
Okay, so I’ve successfully (for the most part) avoided the subject of “jet propelled.” I’m still going to leave the title as such, because most people will not be interested in the other stuff I’ve talked about.
If you’ve gotten this far, thanks for reading. May all (or most) of your dreams come true.
Waiting for a connecting flight from San Francisco on my way home to Fort Lauderdale, I look around me at the faces of my fellow early morning passengers. The feeling of happiness within me contrasts sharply with the reflections of dulled spirits I see sitting row after row at the departure gate.
In defense of my fellow passengers, it can be argued that even the hardiest soul has a difficult time smiling at the ripe hour of six in the morning with nothing to look forward to besides a long, cramped flight in cattle-car-coach. Yet here I am, feeling a sense of contentment so overpowering it compels me to share it with a young lady sitting two seats away. We enjoy a pleasant, meandering conversation before going our separate ways.
By all rights, I should appear as glum and bored to the other waiting passengers as they appear to me. I’ve logged barely a few hours of sleep thanks to a five AM wakeup call. Yet I feel so alive and awake it seems like a miracle. My spirits soar like a nimble 757 jumbo jet taking flight from a short runway.
Let me assure you: I’m no stranger to boredom and depression. And I most certainly don’t feel this happy all of the time. What I’m feeling this morning is the direct result of attending a weekend retreat with Saniel and Linda Bonder.
Before I discovered Waking Down in Mutuality, now co-named Trillium Awakening, happiness had become an increasingly elusive commodity. I had my own ideas about where to find happiness, all of them external, and I pursued each and every one of them with zeal. And then the zeal began to ooze out of me like a rubber raft with a big hole in it. Fortunately, before all of the air in my psychic tires escaped into the ether, I had my first introduction to finding happiness and peace within me.
Thirty years later, my path took me in another direction. I discovered a local group on MeetUp. The group description that captured my attention went something like this: “You don’t have to be a saint to awaken to consciousness. You can awaken as yourself, right where you are. Now.”
Eventually, I discovered to my surprise that people in this group had actually experienced an awakening. Hundreds of them. It was’t just talk.
That was eight years ago. Since then, I’ve been nurturing an inner experience that is alive and real. I haven’t had an awakening yet, but I’ve experienced more peace, joy and, love in my life than ever before.
And, most recently, I’ve had an opportunity to bathe in this experience almost on a daily basis. Thanks to the Trillium organizers and volunteers, daily online gazing and meditation sessions are being offered, free of charge, to support people through the coronavirus crisis.
The major life goal that remains for me now is to realize in greater depth an unshakable foundation of joy, peace, and love waiting to be uncovered inside me. You may be thinking, “give me a break.” People have told me your goal isn’t a goal. It’s nonsense.
I disagree.
I believe it is possible to experience peace, love and joy on a consistent basis, and radiate it out to others. Not every moment, of course, but certainly more consistently than every once in a while.
It is said that what you can conceive and believe, you can achieve. As Saniel and Linda Bonder often say, “The Sun in Your Heart is Rising.”
David Gittlin has written three feature length screenplays, produced two short films, and published three novels. Before quitting his day job, he spent more than thirty years as a marketing director building expertise in advertising, copy writing, corporate communications, collateral sales materials, website content/design and online marketing.
Heart Banter by David Gittlin 