Parsifal Amidst the Birds And the Mark of the Beast 666 - The Wild Lynx vs the Asp Snake:

Raven: "O Soul test your mettle, for terrible was the fight..."

Phoenix Bird: “ The illustrious birds have scarcely ended their insane gibbering, when behold! I looked around me, and saw that the goodly tree was already heavy laden with many other comely birds, at least Sixty Six eminent savants perched on the higher twigs and licking their mouths, yet drooping were the autumnal leaves due to their weight.

I saw some Buzzard Birds very anxious in vacillations very ambivalent, in their last intent and exertion, shooting their pointing bills up to the upper levels of knowledge, ethics, the mystery of love, the occult, astrology, tarot and the wisdom of paganism.

Also here with us, some Woodpeckers, deep in cogitation lost, musing problems unsolved since the dawn of creation, but now their thoughts seem to be set on other baffling puzzles and enigmas.

In the lower branches some birds were very sedate in attitude pensive, and in low spirit downcast, among whom I could recognize a cold-eyed, bitter hawk at the very edge of my branch (an atheistic theologian).

When he saw me, he opened his mandible brooding, as some crooks are fond to do in New York City when in doubts they grope for expression; and then he looked at me with appalling scrutiny, as if wishing a nasty word to be blurted out per force, and yet, in lieu of a wise proverb or psalm, the outlandish rascal ended up sputtering saliva and puss.

And likewise, next to me, I saw another disgusting fellow, a full-fledged Hawk, emitting a gaseous hoarse, a most repugnant and scurrilous scientist, for him we are all mere substance, water and gases in endless dyspepsia.

Fortunately, other birds were less offensive, moderately circumspect, speculating a priori with due pauses, opining on matters of faith and belief, showing self-control, temperance, and most willing to dose themselves to avoiding any interaction with insanity or depression.

Other birds were somewhat reserved and reluctant to embracing any conjecture or hypothesis exceeding the limits of thoughts, logic, reason and the moonlight.

Each bird, a PhD, was in his respective frame-work of expertise or branch of honor: in the first chattering-row, I billed out the learned sages in the branches of sciences, mathematics and pragmatism; then following the order of higher branches, the eminent savants engaged in relative positions and cogitations, discussing on the principles of aesthetics, on human affairs as perceived in the behavior of other species, and whether culture and ethics could be defined by the aeronautic principles of ascending and descending periods, or by keeping a steady flight without veering away into a former position or civilization.

These birds hold that nothing is absolutely truthful or false in any statement or proposition whatsoever –but everything is subjective to a stand-point --the seeming relativity of every stance (Einsteinium points and interpretations.)

And finally, closer to the Squirrel's branch, the atheistic philosophers ruminating with bills upward pointing, half-open mandibles displaying, gurgling on the philosophy of Sartre and Camus, whereat the Raven, the Falcon, and the Starling Birds are crowned pre-eminent leading masters of metaphysics, the history of thought, epistemology and humanities.

All these birds were unwilling to trespass their neighbor's boundary unforewarned, unforetold, without mutual consent to respecting other views, current trends, current fashions and modes, ever addressing the need for political correctness in bi-partisan gatherings, and whether the greatest good for all could be approved without any factions, insurgence, skirmish or any other lamentable feud.

And yet, despite the many differences, noisy squeaking, chirping and twaddles among these birds, they all agreed to grant the malicious Snipe to thrust its sharp bill at the Squirrel's right flank.

And soon they all started fluttering in a vociferous melee, flapping rapidly their wings in unanimous agreement --and thrilling jeering--so loudly ventilated, that I had to put my wings on my ears-holes.

Mind you, I could not betray my good friend up there so readily amidst these lawless knaves and rascals, and kept pressing my wings very tightly toward my bosom; when at that point, a wicked Kestrel marked me off the group with keen eyes penetrating, suspicious about my conduct, doubting my feathers' rank, texture and yellowish pigmentation.

The peevish Kestrel, nonetheless, was amazed at the soft glowing spectrum of my body (perhaps lit by the influential spectrum of the Squirrel's Light!).

And from that time on, the cruel predator kept his piercing eyes ever fixed on me, with many odious grimaces, the sharp-eyed bird could not stop making hideous faces while preening his right flank; nay, I heard him chirping vengeance for ever and ever to pseudo Christians and Atheists in America.

I was about to turn my shocked bill slightly when a vindictive Owl —weak to the core— put her butt on my head suffocating me mercilessly; and occasionally, the vile animal would turn her head round her neck, and then would look at me askance, leering, and ogling at my feathers with some wicked delight, a fearsome expression that is more akin to sneaky creatures when caught in some secret abomination and malevolence.

I cast a glance at her creepy visage, and felt my limbs decomposing, whereupon I shuddered on my nest; her eyes were marked with unexplainable bitterness, morbid desires hopeless, contorting grimaces and winces many, awful to behold in any bird but hating, cursing and blaspheming, in rancor consumed, ever-sulking vengeance, retaliation, death, destruction…badly congenial to a fizzling heart unforgiving...

Amidst the many confusing voices twittering in this foggy air, I heard distinctly, a most salient, high-pitched sound from the dark sky, hissing like a comet, or a jetting stream from a cavity gushing forth.

And all on a sudden, lo! I saw the said Snipe Bird far off up-soaring like an arrow, his shooting flight taking up the dark clouds by surprise, as a lightning missile traversing the vaulting heavenly expanses barely visible; and then it came back reverting his direction in counter forces of propulsion, elasticity, dexterity, gravity and other acrobatic maneuvers, all obliquely achieved and contrived for every crooked path highly underlined.

He was perhaps at a distance of Thirty Three in Length the Size of the Tree's Height, and in a twinkle of an eye, he again geared downward with a wheezing sound, at a very rapid, unbelievable speed, and then started wheeling round and round the Squirrel's position most prodigiously.

We were all stunned in disbelief at such astonishing event, and every one and each of us (including thirteen Sparrows and thirty three Woodpeckers) was so confused with admiration and perplexedly disarrayed, that we did not know what to make of such a turning-point.

Nevertheless, we quickly composed ourselves to our former state, appropriate for philosophers, searching the roosting branches --our dear lofty nests, whence we might objectively witness how this unparalleled event would ultimately culminate the life of that Great Squirrel.

Now the Snipe ever-swirling and rotating, avoids a clear mark, so as not to hit his mark assuredly, however insinuating, he rotates and revolves somewhat wobbling, sometimes veering away, thus evading a predictable behavior, intention or modus operandi, as though trying to bring his adversary down-plumping through a rather sleight of psychological bid, deceit, perhaps endeavoring to overcome Him through subtle tricks of distraction, hypnosis, incantation, sickness, magic, spells, giddiness, dizziness, drowsiness.

Nevertheless, the Inspired Creature (though a little squirrel) remains unmoved defiantly, keeps his firm stance poised, endures the Weak Hour unyielding to any artful stratagem or devious wiles!

And now the treacherous Snipe changes his course of action --following Balthasar Gracian's recommendations to procure as many directions and flights variable unfolding (The Art of Worldly Wisdom).

And thus the Machiavellian Bird starts off his flight from a higher perspective, from a finer fixed approximation and yet at a distance of about Sixty Six In Length the Size of the Goodly Tree's Height, and thus marks this focus-point in computation carefully, ever coming down adroitly unto his prey in a subterfuge of spider-like spirals, circling, revolving and rocking in many a complex airy strand mischievous —as if interweaving a cobweb on mid-air suspended— yet narrowing at the center of the Poet's Belly, seat of emotions (the Celiac Plexus).

Indeed, the Vile Bird was contriving a most deceptive hypochondria and paroxysm of vomits; but the Squirrel, composing himself with remarkable aplomb, is neither afraid nor deceived, nor thrown off equanimity, nor by illness illusory deluded hopeless, but rather, continues his unshakable position a Shining Soul defiant –unswerving in Perseverance and Inspiring!

The furious mob now shrills cheerfully in frenzy and mad euphoria, at intervals flaunting their pointing bills, quills, butts, tails and claws most conspicuously, among whom I singled out eleven thorny eminent birds: a full-fledged Hawk, two Larks, five Plovers, four Kites and two Falcons roosting in some drooping branches.

All these birds were very pleased with themselves, constantly complimenting the Snipe's aerial feats and strategies; and all-and- for-all optimistic, they celebrate the fateful hour of the squirrel's imminent doom.

‘Sure! by the wee hours the Mad Poet will doze off guard, in this manner finally receiving the Snipe's sharp dagger at a most vulnerable hour.'

O soul pay heed to some old maxims, when the Great Masters of Mankind remind us, that exhaustion and sleep may render our limbs loose and manageable, and we are but easy prey to a furtive devil prowling around; for there is a time in everyone's life when even the most sensible of souls (Shanti) may hold her heart pounding in remorse, day and night, grieving in doleful confessions, the deeds evilly committed –and yet, unexpiated, is doomed to remain trapped in the Nest Of Time (Hell) -- like haunting ghosts roving the dreadful mansion of time.

At his point, I heard an Owl crying to her wit's ends and snarling in counterfeits of supplication and feigning tears:

“Dear Snipe, dear Spine, my lovely bird, please poke the Squirrel at the bushy tail, please I beg you, prod him, prod him until he cry to his wit's end, plunging headlong into the Lynx's Claws.'”

O you skeptic children of David Hume who are now reading this most reliable, trustworthy of stories! Believe what I shall tell you, and arrest your mind retaining, read herein what light and darkness could not reconcile in the eternal eons of time.

O Dante! herein I also shoot my arrow, not in Inferno Canto XXV, but in a most terrible forest, in Transylvania, before you were born to a woman most caring, for here with me are other beasts ever hunting this planet tenebrous.

Do not let Psyche go astray through the crooked path of errors and meaningless, fancy fabrication; for, in some moonless nights, you will not match what forms and substance may still afford the spraining heart overcome, loathing in ineffable horrors tingling and throbbing, the cursed shapes restless spouting hatred, their sinuous members transforming serpentine, the haunting shades ever inter-changing natura at the foot of the goodly tree of Mother Eve...”

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A Bedlam On The Tree Of Wisdom
(Birds, Angels And Demons!)

Concerning mankind's destructive power and the other voices of Mother Nature; on whether intelligent awareness (e.g. spirits, angels, demons, ghosts) can take into forms of birds, serpents, wild animals, or any other unknown living entities... --Do you believe in angels?

Phoenix Bird: “...I was still listening to the Owl hooting in dolorous supplications, her incessant pleas for vengeance, when, all of a sudden, my branch started shaking, bending and tumbling down.

I thought it was the fancy of my mind due to the Snipe's unstable proceedings and erratic scheme of plans; and then I felt a chilly whir as if another bird had just flown off behind my nape.

But again, I didn't want to lose sight of my dear sensitive friend, and with great efforts, I stretched forth my clumsy fingers to pluck away some impeding twigs athwart my face. And behold! what sad spectacle the thorny-foliage unfolded unto my aching heart.

Behold! I saw the cruel Snipe stinging his sharp bill at the Squirrel's right flank, and the latter was dodging every assault to his persona undebased.

I then understood that the Malicious Bird was either scared of the Flaming Creature (the Shanti's Necklace), and perhaps could not come nigh enough for fear of setting his ruffled plumage afire, or perhaps, he was just reconnoitering how close he could come nigh onto the Squirrel's tail.

But the Despicable Thug was not so stupid a hasty enemy, nor lacking in subtlety, nor discarding the expediency of ‘time and patience,’ the dire motto of great predators hunting.

And just like a foul petition is issued amidst smoke or incenses yet rebounding against heaven's vault, would quickly down to earth returns rejected, so up to the dark clouds he went off again receding, at a distance of about Six Hundred Sixty Six (666) in Length the Size of the Tree's Height; and from that ominous place, the dark clouds delineated some hazy mysterious letters (a hieroglyph written in Sanskrit!) which afterwards, some eminent scholars from Columbia University assured me warning that these characters may stand for a bold inscription, which translated into the English Language could convey this interpretation:

The Vilest Organisms Haunt This Planet.

Forthwith, the Winged Butcher came downward slanting, at such velocity that we thought the Squirrel would finally receive the blow —like a missile of astonishing precision— in a manner so terrifyingly piercing, that I had to close my eyes, so as not to see the poor victim tossed off into the air, a leaping cricket shrieking wretchedly.

Nevertheless, however wonderful! the necklaced Master avoids the mortal sting without moving his bushy tail!

At this point, some birds went berserk snapping off their tongues, teeth gnashing, wings flapping, necks wringing, and pressing claws tightly against everyone's breast, as if in a fit of derangement, frenzy and wizardry wild --like Walpurgisnacht in ancient Germany's untamed woods-- (Check Faust Part I by Goethe) the tree of Mother Eve was shaking with such commotion that I felt most jittery in the company of these demonic birds.

Between bustling, whizzing, jarring and clattering, all of a sudden, I heard a deafening striking thunderbolt in heaven's bulging expanses, so loudly rebounding and resounding, that it sent forth every one dispersed, disarrayed in great confusion, moving round swirling, like whirling dusts numberless storming in the Gobi desert's lurid hazes, or like sandy storms in parched lands desolated by mankind's constant forays and exodus, cursed forever under furious winds destructive; a mid-hellish world where lightning clouds ever scourge with great blasts and destruction the path of humanity. The children of Adam and Eve are doomed.

At this point, I heard the mad tantivy of long-billed black birds, a flock of ravens and vultures of fiercest aspect, (fallen angels) as they fled coursing the polluted sky northward, southward, eastward, westward, in great files and squadrons flying, receding shades many, ever stretching beyond my sight's power, beyond my ken.

By any dint of reason or exertion, I could not count their numbers but in the thousands, an awful army.

O my goodness! In such a chaos and jittery stance, I did not know what to do, whether to stay clutched onto my branch –gripping tightly with all my strength and grinding teeth, or like other cowards —winged beasts that range this dank air— perhaps take a quick leave and thus avoid something unpredictable, unforeseeable, evil...a hovering entity: Satan.

In the midst of this universal bedlam and pandemonium, the dark clouds thundered tremendously noisy, and no one could hold his tail fearless, nor wings or limbs unmoved a stable creature.

Fluttering on every side, the tree's branches shook by our presence heavy-laden. We were all caught timorous and trembling; for, even the Squirrel started waving his tail, and my heart contracted very pitifully within my bosom.

Dear friend, by heaven's sake, don't wave your tail, lest you provoke the wrath of the grim devil lying at the trunk of the Tree of Wisdom.

Now I knew that the tailless Wild Lynx would climb up here, and with crushing swat would bring the Thee-Poet an easy pap, a bruised corpse rolling down into the adversary's ravenous maw: the Ancient Snake of our dread.

O my dear readers, you have no idea how difficult it was for me to leave my ever-seeking friend thus forsaken, forlorn and prey to such Terrible Predator.

By now, I could barely flap my drooping wings, and per-chance could save my life, but with much panting and weeping sorrowful, defeat seemed to be approaching nearby; and thus I moved on downcast, for my strength almost failed me, and my eyes’ rheum wet-red with tears distorted, my vision turned blurry, fuzzy, hazy.

Knowing that death would soon claim my great friend, it behooved me no wise an idea, to go up unto Him and give my last farewell-hug, pressing wings tightly, a final adieu to that Great Poet, a final embrace of enduring loyalty, to clasp His being in fulsome pinions of Love, Hope, Faith and Precious Memories dearly remembered to me.

Unfortunately, unspeakable dread overcame my goodwill in indescribable premonitions and perspiration, and by force contrary, I flew off the knotted tree of Mother Eve, slowly retreating heartbroken, not yet willing to abandon my friend up there, not knowing his last breath resigning in the wee hours of to-morrow.

Ceremoniously, I stretched my pinions wide open, ever looking back at Him, and thus prepared myself to shave off the thick air gently around the Great Master's aura, at least to see his serene countenance gasping last, one more time my inspiration to behold.

Thereat, atop the Tree of Mother Eve, a lonely, abandoned, forsaken although a wonderfully inspiring creature was gazing up to the arching heavens: a hero to posterity sent forth with a necklace of perseverance, but here He is but a suffered martyr...renown to no-one but to angels only.

An so, I was about to soar aloft, when the Kestrel Bird impeded my path, and compelled me at every endeavor abstruse, unyielding not to seek the Master near.

After much grueling effort and pushing myself unto him my dear friend, I was finally forced to land on a mossy snag, a stick jutting off a small creek, allowing some dry spot propitious by the ford, and thereat on pricking twigs and tufts, I placed my goring soles carefully, suffering some minor bleeding wounds, yet without cheeping or wheezing, I laid me down exhausted, whence I could still view last, the sad final episodes of this unforgettable night in Transylvania...”

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An Omen - An Angel of Death Appears in the Midst of Gray Clouds:

It is now 4:33 am, the Night has been cast in the weak spell of darkness, shadows and thunders threaten the question of existence:
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This is the Hour that tests the depth and height of mountains, valleys knitting, precipices flipping, caves pounding, swamps burning, lakes boiling, rivers shaking in convulsion of blood and trepidation, and even the very ocean's might dashes against the ancient wall-towers of islands, peninsulas, continents or any mass that withstand the wrath of King Nihilo's army.

Phoenix Bird: "...O dear reader, at this point, I heard the disheartening wailings of winds as they smote the ears of silence irate, vengeful like Hell simmering and fizzing: like wrathful Cerberus with one thousand gullets spewing hatred and blasphemies, furious as of old days in Sodom and Gomorrah's once dense forests, where till this night, haunting beasts (ghosts) are said to be roving furtive, sedate, eyes livid with sorrows and guilt unforgiven —eternally goaded to haunt restless the path of Cain; or like in the arid dunes, the disheartening expanses of the Sahara desert, where at certain hours, panting wolves howl rapacious at midnight.

They are the sleepless sentinels of time, monsters aloof, ever watching the lost wayfarers roaming fugitive amidst dens, ravines, wolds and caves many on this mysterious old planet Earth.

O woeful beasts! They hover errant like ghouls, more willing to snap with one thousand teeth and claws the meaning of life devouring.

Again, high above, fiery clouds continued discharging electrical forks with frightening thunderclaps --explosive in bursting elements antagonistic--unreconciled either by heat or cold embraces, as if hellbent on blasting this realm, from pole-to-pole, with fiery lashes of earthquakes, famine, consternation.

The fiery elements above were intent on charring all flesh and trees on equal terms confounding, leaving behind but a broad plain of ashes in endless knobs helter-skelter: a huge morgue ever stretching, billowing and billowing, unto the hoary sea of yesterday in lost civilizations and peoples: a world of meaninglessness, disasters innumerable, gloom unfathomable, an unpalatable history, abstruse to convey in terms of fixed goals and purpose.

And so this wide-wayed road brought to my sight the soul-wracking, desolate waste lands of Babylon, Egypt, Turkey, the discarded stones of temples and ruins in past futile endeavors.

O dusty wrecks of matter and nothingness!

And again, I heard the terrifying clouds' thunderclaps, as if willing to answer me but in deafening roars confusing, rebounding, unrevealing like a pregnant womb in long ages crying, a sullen woman not yet ready to give birth, but with painful snarling in supplications avenging; and I heard her growing and drumming thumps and thumps in her entrails, pounding and pounding in crescendo --how terrible! like the tantivy of one billion horses at full gallop, or like prodigious giants churning the ocean's tides with towering feet, thrashing and thrashing the turbulent dark-tinged water of yore; ensuing reckless waves in tsunamis and inland rushes, dashing the barbed rocks in great splashes of foams and corpses drowning.

I also heard daunting echoes resounding beyond sounds imaginable or grave music ever conceived, yet experienced in this world ever assaulted by Mankind's ingenuity and all-crushing assaults on Mother Nature.

And how the dark clouds sparked in flashes of vermilion and red hues stirring forces?

Thereat lurid particles compress and squeeze the elements impelling and repelling, tinting grisly the mind apprehended and shrouded in horrible visions futuristic; tinging hopeless the broad horizon of many a postponed dawning -- and to-morrow-- a lessened day with veiled Selena weeping; while down here on earth, swooning groves faint in long vigils overcome, hopeful to be blown away by the furies of storms or hails, or in the endless flight of future days-and-nights, perhaps to be snatched off by the terrible forces of King Nihilo's all destructive fist.

And then I saw the all pervasive vapors rising slowly, like a wan She-mist sneaky, furtive, a serpentine creature crafty, suspended over the dry valley of holy Ezequiel.

Like a mist ever rolling up to the welkin of great expectation; so the She-mist retreated, clad in big curtains, monstrous filaments and columns of smokes, soot and debris...ever-receding, wafting aloof, while leaving behind a world but in desolation, consternation and chaos.

In this manner I descried the expanses above, a world of twilight and penumbras deceptive, where shadows, shapes and shades ever haunt stealthily, defying the mind's feeble dint of comprehension.

O Soul! --And where is the meaning of life? Can you tell me?

No sooner I had resigned the omen above perusing, when down here I discerned the Wild Lynx ranging ever closer to the Tree Forbidden.

With light steps he runs and squats at intervals, no spoors leaving behind but a vile beast flinching, a cursed being set free to torment the good soul trembling. I beheld him no trace or tangible thing imprinting, for smoothly he treads on continuously, a lurking fiend ever-prowling unnoticed, obscurely hunting the crooked path of mischief and treachery.

And so trackless he wended on, like a shadow amidst the quiet air of night suspensive; and yet, dim reflections bounced off from his boggy pelt, faintly lit by clouds' flashings, revealing a dark, ominous entity moving foul and mysterious!

Oh cursed natura! I wanted to see him substantial, from a different perspective, a clearer brute erring, because the dread of Mother Eve could even camouflage his low-chroma coat with the mantle of imperial night.

Having recovered my strength, I rose off the mossy snag, and propelled myself aloft, ever flying with leveled wings; quietly, I shaved this hazy atmosphere of torpor, alongside a most conspicuous knotted tree, next to the squirrel's current predicament.

Therefrom and adjacent to those goodly trees, I descried a hillock protruding, a jutting abode, a fortress built above those beasts that ramble stray from the truth.

On closer inspection, the tall rock showed me a cozy ledge gently aglow, like a precious stone glistening, thus bathing in golden hues the downy boundary of night; and as I came nigh to view this wonder, it cast off sweet reflections on my plumage!

O my goodness! On closer proximity, I found it to be a propitious lodging, a comfy dwelling for those who at night-flight may sojourn errant in this cruel existence.

Quickly, and ever careful, so as not to fling my wings whirring noisily, I lodged myself therein, landing smoothly on my snug lair, an altar enshrined on a rocky foundation!

At this point, I descried down the Valley of Shadow, to see the Cursed Natura clambering up the Tree of Knowledge and Wisdom. And Lo and behold! The Wild Lynx was scrabbling with great effort in perspiration. Ferociously, he was breaking leaves, twigs plucking, banging branches, hissing proudly, and cursing heaven for every bark his nails snapped off erroneous.

The Lynx: 'Dammed that Squirrel, doomed the woman, a slut, a whorish slattern, who thus entrusted her salvation to this silly wight.'

The Phoenix Bird: “O despicable creature! When he saw me, his eyes flashed with terror and dread. His forepaws whacked and swatted the fetid air, and ever stretching his supple body upward and upward —to heaven intending his hardy head obstinate— the Wild Cat's fury was consuming his gut for revenge and destruction.

In this manner, the seditious fiend was not willing to resign midway, on public view with the proud birds an embarrassing spectacle, thus bringing shame onto himself, or yielding victory to a mere squirrel; but with much grueling endeavors and propelled by the exertion of his shuffling hind-paws, the cat went on to reach closer unto the enchanting Poet's uppermost branches, whereupon, the Squirrel, likewise, in mortal defiance, waved and waved his bushy tail upward curling!

When the squirrel caught sight of me, awestruck, and perched up here in a High Citadel, the shock was mutual!

For by all means, Parsifal stood in a serious stance, courageous, a poised, defiant warrior ready to fight the Beast (666) with great conviction.

At this point, dear readers, my heart almost leaped out of my bosom with joy surpassing all understanding: Ever transfixed with thrills, en-Shanting emotions and confusion, I knew the Great Master to be remarkably resourceful and inspiring, nay, ever wonderful in ways alike surprising and delightful!

Deep within my heart, a gentle voice whispered a blessed reassurance that the Master shall claim himself victorious.

And suddenly, the dear little creature turned around rejoicing, ever looking up to heaven in thanksgiving, to show me the Shanti's necklace of Perseverance and Inspiration; and with exquisite glints and sparkling beams, the curious glistening pearls glared forth these Sanskrit-hieroglyphs, jingling characters which in the English language could be rendered like this:

Gold pure, a faithful soul, thy goodly princess!

Forthwith he touched the promised-gift musing, as if to remind me, that he was unswerving till the end of His life.

But the Lynx was not content at such farce and provocation, and with mocking grimace, the knave, outlandishly, spewed the air with saliva acridly, taunting ferociously, and muzzling vindictive threats:

'Meowing, meowing and meowing,' I heard him saying like this:

‘Hey Thee stupid poet above, thou will meet thy match, wait until I beat thy snout lamenting.'

But the squirrel paid no heed to such threats, and kept waving his tail defiantly. For, the little squirrel was confident that no brute or evil bird would ever reach the higher twigs of the goodly tree of love. Nay, he continued hopping from branch to branch as his good-will impelled him to do so.

And thus, my goodness! He was about to taper his tail even further, to reach the uttermost edge of another marvelous branch called (An Authentic Field A Heart Forgiving); but when the Wild Cat saw the branch of honor and distinction, he could not contain his rage, wildly blinded, jumped unto it precipitously, thus tragically confounding a waving tail for a mere bending twig; and so he leaped after it in full-force, swatting and swatting, forepaws stretching, forepaws tapering, yet holding nothing in concrete, nor limbs clinging onto any thing, nor firmly attached to the tree's flimsy splinters.

Thus the devil's all-clutching claws lost their effectiveness on the upper branches of the Tree of Wisdom.

In this tragic twist of events, drooping leaves would receive a crowned quadruped falling headlong —a scoundrel par excellence self-deceived— a ninny per choice himself mistaking.

Four-legging his own debacle and lamentable fiasco, the Wild Cat came down plummeting headlong to meet his counterpart self-enrolled in lethal silence, his match: the cold-blooded Asp Snake.

Dashed and pierced by some sharp sticks pricking most thornily, the Wild Lynx plunged atop the hideous serpent of our dread.

Forthwith, the serpent recoiled herself with a cold, expressionless stare that sent shivers down my spine.

Suddenly, Lilith reared her cocky head most menacingly, but seeing that the Lynx had suffered some minor bloody bruises along his neck, the Snake assumed a counterfeit guise of innocence, grace, irresistible charm and a mellifluous speech every now and then releasing a hiss between pauses."

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On whether devils exist, and whether such entities are beyond good and evil; perhaps they are the stinging, compelling forces whose function or morality may seem to spur the sinners out of this hell.

Indeed, some philosophers have brought so much woe and pain to this world, always robbing our cherished ideas...and many souls like me, could barely escape their clutches: a total revaluation of vital values and priorities.

Probably I was not bold enough to reading the Antichrist by F. Nietzsche! The forbidden-man may seem to imply: the anti-decadence, thus clenching his supple fist against a type of pseudo-Christianity which may rather weaken the true Christian soul.

Was not Dante Alighieri a type of Nietzschean man?

He made a comedy out of hell --and there are devils behind every great man or woman, but there are heavens above the boiling pitch of hell!

The Phoenix Bird: "...I saw the Wild Lynx rolling down and belching smoke through its nostrils, while the thick air was pierced with a most savage hiss —a high-pitched scream—that even as I remember now, it makes me shudder with perspiration and apprehension. The beast plumped the lower ground with a hollow thud; and then I heard a chilly shriek which stirred my mind to acutest premonitions and labors.

Down there, I could see that the Beast's claws were still clutching some splinters, perhaps they were the ravaged stems torn-off from the goodly branch: the field of forgiveness. His right flank was partially flayed, thus revealing a sanguinary natura, swollen and raging with unspeakable fury.

Sometimes the vile creature, caught up in the throes of anguish and despair, would burst into a paroxysm of impotent self-pathetic whimpers and uproars, every now and then, piteously snarling and crying to his wits' ends, as though his hagridden guts were being consumed with the hellfires of boiling pitch.

From the ridge of his nape along the spinal cord, down to the coccyx bone, a grievous gash marked his back-bone most conspicuously —it looked like a long bloody stripe receding into the pit of the rump.

And even as a frighten sentinel frets to and fro in the narrow boundary of his tent, and quickly squats to hide from view, yet ever keeps a steady watch at some specter forming in the ingenuity of darkness and dread, in like similitude, I drew back against the wall of my den-cell, revolting at the awful reality of such deformed a mental conception, a demon, a loathsome phenomenon, and I could not believe that this dense forest was but the mere fabrication of my mind.

After some ambivalence and vacillation, I quietly came out closer to the rim of the ledge, all the while avoiding the enemy to get me by some lamentable dozing-off in the slumbering spells of deep-sleep, or perhaps waxing careless, in the couched, pillowed complacency for dawdling fools, the devil could find his prey unprepared to bear the brunt of such grim a fiend.

When I reached the brink of my dwelling place, to eye downward the descending cliff, my tongue almost failed me: fear of a horned devil climbing up here to get me was ever-assailing my mind. And I had to tell myself, my mind, please, stop bringing such thoughts. They are unreal!

Such gruesome possibility, nonetheless, would suffice to take away my breath, and afterwards, I could neither sleep, nor be off guard at these bone-chilling wee-hours.

As much as I denied the reality of evil, as perhaps relative to our all-too-human nature --our insignificant role in the larger global scheme of things-- devils are irrefutable facts of life.

I have seen bold men cast out demons, while other zealots, as though engaged in a most serious battle with the wicked spirits of the unseen world, would rapidly split into swirling squadrons of smaller groups of spiritual soldiers or brigades. But these latter contingents, would even further divide into smaller unit-cells or squads of endless vigils, fervent prayers and conjurations against the invisible, advancing forces of Satan.

And where is the enemy?
Where the Beast, 666?

Praying, rebuking and casting out demons in the name of Jesus Christ, the indomitable army would dare muster all their forces to warding-off the encroaching raids of the wicked spirits.

But Satan's innumerable fallen angels are known to be alike invincible and invisible, and like a thronged army of zombies sallying forth from the Pit of Hell, their pervasive presence would suffice to turn every one into a demon-possessed Christian, a denizen of the underworld.

Unaware of the Mark of Beast, the botched crowd of Nietzsche's Antichrist, would even relapse into a frenzied gathering of parrots, making outlandish grimaces, they would even butt their reeling heads while issuing some undecipherable, cacophonous babbles: 'blah, blah, blah!'

They are said to be speaking in tongues. However 'fired by the spirit,' the zealots, although a hapless crowd, already under the insidious spells of Satan, a numinous delirium for this religious legion of lost souls, would run amok, back and forth, like a disarrayed throng of soldiers into every direction.

Unfortunately, some Christian soldiers, already turned into living zombies or ghoulish citizens of the netherworld, however fastened with the tight tangles of demons, could scarcely suspect that they are already under the power of the prince of this world: Nihilo (Satan).

Now, my dear sceptic reader, I have had my ghosts-experiences in Washington Heights, and it would require a leap of faith into the supernatural, the paranormal, the realm of the spirits. However a sceptic by the vigor of my rational leanings into the province of science, I am bound to admit the Spirit Realm is, as yet, replete with strangest phenomena: ghosts, demons, and angels.

During a Funerary Ceremony, I witnessed a nearly dead man break free from the confinement of his casket. Suddenly, the corpse, a mummy-like Lazarus, bashed the hollow wooded prison-cell with a most remarkable blast, and then, kicked off the coffin's lid wide open, thus rearing his cocky head above the present circumstances of his tragedy.

In the last breath for some fresh air, Half-Dead Man raised himself upwardly, in mortal defiance to his diagnosis, in total defiance to the incredulity of those present --thus holding in contempt the laws of Mother Nature, he went on to say:

‘Vile rabble of the False Prophet, look at me! I am still alive!'

Thus Half-Dead Man pronounced himself in a hoarse, husky voice whose cadence made my scruff's hairs stand on end like a bristle. His sallow profile sent shivers down my spine.

The cheekbones and temples were horribly scarred, and a conspicuous wound, probably occasioned by his incessant head-banging and thrashing against the coffin's lid, was bleeding profusely.

Looking around, indomitably, with a most seriously stoned visage, Half-Dead Man, like a centaur or a bull in full gear for wars, stuck out his huge tongue to each and every one present, as if to imply that the sin of calumny and blasphemy is this common chattering among the Latino people.

Meanwhile, Half-Dead Man, looking askance every now and then at a crucifix hanging across the baptistery, glued his hawkish eyes on the pallor of the minister, Rev. Don Juan Almonte.

‘You rascal, false apostle of Satan! You are the Son of Perdition. Back off vile impostor of the devil.'

Thus said Half-Dead Man in a most frightening accusation, 'Because of you, these sheep lies under the power of Satan.'

At that, the stunned spectators hunkered down, aghast, some went on berserk into every direction, all the while groaning and moaning like a dolorous cattle shipped off to the slaughterhouses of the stock-market in America: or, like a swarm of goats bleating to their wit's end.

Pierced with indescribable fear for the grim butcher's scythe, the funerary atmosphere was filled with plaintive voices, sighs and moaning like the uncanny buzzes of locusts blanketing the sky with their ominous curses upon the children of Adam and Eve.

Thus the lost cattle of Christ were all screaming for help to the Almighty.

Ranting and raving, Half-Dead Man, still rising himself, up and up, from the Casket of Death, was able to send the flabbergasted congregants into a great melee; nay, many poor fellows went on to press bodies against each other, elbows nudging tightly, limbs as clutching feelers bone-breaking, so hardly pulling and pushing, their tarsos were compressed by this mad crowding of desperate souls.

I heard their weeping and gnashing of teeth, grinding with such clattering and disheartening clamors that I had to draw myself against the walls of this little chapel.

‘God help me.’

Meanwhile, other Christians, in great despair, went on to jump above the pews, thus trampling some unfortunate elders and deacons which happened to be idly chatting and hindering the Fellowship Hall's exiting doors.

In this manner, men, women and children left the Funerary House in a jittery bedlam, all sallying forth through the trap-door of the church's backyard, a graveyard, as if afraid of some impending danger, unquenchable fire, or the ominous advent of Satan.

Meanwhile, I also saw other infidels throwing pews, statues and icons on every side, thus desecrating a funeral service into a veritable scenario of disorder, sacrifice, abomination and chaos.

Indeed, the religious sheep were seeking escape-ways out of this awful reality, for it seemed that Half-Dead-Man was not yet ripe for the dank mansion of the Trinity Cemetary (located at 155th Street between Amsterdam Avenue and Riverside Drive) where ghost-apparitions are believed to take place at the drooping hours of the night), nor was Half-Dead-Man ready for the scalding cauldrons of Hell.

Whereupon, at such awful a spectacle, even Rev. Don Juan Almonte, and this humble servant fled the scene with indescribable fright.

In this great confusion, like a lost sheep, I could scarcely comprehend what was going on, and hence, I also followed the mob (the greater number, legion) but in so doing, unwittingly, I had also ran with the devil by my side.

In the last analysis, we were scared of Half-Dead Man, a great man who had suffered a malicious accusation to his persona. In this manner, Half-Dead-Man was just trying to tell us the reasons behind his unhappy ending, and so he stuck out his tongue, as if to imply that Rev. Don Juan Almonte, was a lecherous centaur clothed in sheep-fleece, an impostor and a profiteer from the savage woods of Latin America, in short, ‘a chupacabra,’ goat-sucker.

Fleeing with the herds and the devil, Don Juan Almonte at the helm, I had mistakenly judged Half-Dead-Man to be the Antichrist, the Son of Perdition, the Mark of the Beast 666, as prophesied in the Book of Revelation.

A few hours later, Half-Dead Man would finally breathe his last, but no justice was done to this great saint, and worst of all, he left this world with the mortal blow of a ruinous reputation, a criminal, a thief, a delinquent, willy-nilly, conceding the final victory to Satan and his Missionaries of Light.

Impostor Don Juan Almonte (whose last name means unto the woods), meanwhile went on to become a very affluent real estates owner, a CEO, at the helm of multiple evangelical churches thriving and burgeoning in Latin America and USA.

The Good Samaritan, the Church of Christ, the Living Word of God, et al., under Almote’s leadership, would soon become a beacon of hope for the lost sheep in the peripheral, squalid quarters of big cities.

Meanwhile, Half-Dead-Man was left behind, a martyr to posterity, but in the midst of this confusion, erroneously, we had held him to be the Antichrist.

Like a bevy of stray deers, afraid of some hideous wolf prowling around, in like similitude we took leave after the impious herds running at full speed.

We left the church through the spacious vestibule, ever looking back towards the frightening coffined Half-Dead-Man left forlorn, relegated to oblivion in the ashen-colored chapel of the Trinity Cemetery.

Indeed, we could not believe our eyes at such astonishing an event, for, if some one were to come back to life like this self-assertive, vaunting man, how terrible it would be to remain fearless in his company.

And yet, never felt I such horror as when I saw the Mark of the Beast (666) imprinted in the spinal cord of a Lynx. It is even scarier when I learned of the hideous coitus between these two monsters of nihilism, and how the twain became one hybrid of formidable size, ugliness and bestiality.

The odious feline was squirming terribly amidst some withering leaves and straws, ripping torn-off twigs, mowed bushes and swards, shattered flowers and vegetation sapped down by the tantalizing impact of this monster of modernism, hellbent on destruction.

More and more in agitation, the Wild Lynx's muzzle, limbs and flanks started twitching and wriggling on the base-ground of suffering, convulsion and despair.

I could not make out the reason for such sudden disheartening whimpering, every now and then, slavering foams at the mouth, and sputtering blood through the nostrils, which almost choked him dead, but soon could I dissipate my doubts: it seemed as though a great calamity had befallen the beast (the Nihilism of F. Nietzsche, even though he is believed not to be a nihilist).

Thrusting my eyes farther into the Wild Woods, to discern a better assessment of the accursed animal writhing and ranging in the thick mantles of the night, I saw that the enemy was trying to set himself free from the tight grasp of another entangled devil: the Asp Snake was contriving all kinds of knotted embraces and sneaky tendrils around the Wild Cat's Neck, but the latter would slowly unfasten himself in a most amusing fashion.

Ever distending and shrinking back his belly into a slimmer frame, the Wild Cat could outsmart the Snake's tight embraces, but the latter would not resign her hideous amorous tryst an unloving critter in this wild wood of Transylvania, year 448.

‘O my limbs why I have thee!'

Thus I heard the Ancient Serpent saying in a rather sweet cadence:

‘My Darling! Do you want a tail?'

And the Cat: 'Where is my tail, my tail, my short tail.'

And the other brute would reply in a rather squeaky, high-sounding hiss!

‘Are they for superfluous ends?'

O my dear reader! I kept my vigil all nightlong, awake, as that great sentry who could only think but on saving his few belongings and cherished possession, to the wee hours of Aurora always alert and vigilant, so I was to remain a sturdy spirit to the reality of evil in this dangerous forest.

And thanks be to God that a Phoenix-Bird like me was not granted a bushy tail at such dreadful an hour.

The truth is I was much in fear for my life, and for a moment, I thought how painful would be to receive a grievous mangling from the all-clutching claws or venomous fangs of such fiercest beasts.

If such ferocious devils ever catch me, surely, the 666-Beast would gouge out a hunk of flesh from buttock, and perhaps my vitals and guts could satiate the Lynx's hellbent vindictive wrath against my friend: the squirrel of my inspiration.

True! A good friend would offer his life for another friend, but I wish to ward off such horrendous a death, for, a dammed Bird am I, such sad a funeral awaiting for me.

Ever attentive, I could not close my heavy-lidded eyes, my auricular sense, my gut-feelings, my angst-wracked mind became very sensitive to every rustle: the subtlest movement became audible in feeble echoes, hushes and tremors by the Tree of Mother Eve.

My own hushing breath, even my inner-reeling thoughts commingling with the drafty wailing of errant winds, made me so perceptive of the other meanings of silence.

These restless elements were rubbing my heartbeats with uncanny premonition and forebodings: a great fight is unfolding in the day after tomorrow.

All of a sudden, I heard a creaking-jarring sound issuing from the lower platform of existence, a jerking commotion, as if reminding me that this life is the reality of struggle and suffering --a world of restlessness and challenges at every steep endeavor, and how the gloom of this jungle reminded me the awful travails of Ferdinand Ossendowski in his memorable writings, Beasts, Men and Gods: a world that could be kept in motion but by the stinging slashes of counter-forces, ever in attraction and repulsion: this is the antagonism of Spinoza in the furnace of creation and destruction, the nihilistic artists and their benefactress, goddess Shiva at the helm of every civilization.

Now, my main task is to endure this hour of trials; like Socrates or Christ, to raise my countenance above this present realm of contradictions, hopeful of a hereafter in the promise-hope of a glorious, dawning day.

In the Flight of Time Shanti awaits for those who persevere in goodness, to assuage the bleeding soles, gores and bruised pinions with sweet caring hands of love and forgiveness. Mind you, this world, so far, as perceived from this dismal forest, has no other mode of existence: it is a struggle, the strong will survive.

The cold chalice is for every noble soul but a bitter drink, a sour gulp of suffering, disappointment and crucifixion.

In this daunting contest, one must daily exerts the internal man, the inner woman to strive upward, upsurging to the Music of Beethoven in perseverance and inspiration, and even come to grips with the reality of sufferings, trails and tribulations, long endurance in many a solitary walk with that mummy-like visage, a half-dead body rising defiantly from the ashen mansion of yesteryears.

Verily, we must be ready to confronting any unpredictable event, beast, ghost, demon or sudden disaster, always armored and invested with that strong-minded attitude which could front devils face to face, head on, and still greater if we could sound the depths of many a bottomless chasm in this mysterious existence.

Become aware of this fact of survival, a peripatetic, sedentary if perhaps lonely existence, wandering and ranging the unfettered, forested woods of the Earth, where Cain's blood still trickles the rutted paths of the exodus.

It is a world ever scorched with the unquenchable fires of mankind's inexorable onslaught on Mother Nature: violence and hatred always threatening any truce with that distant, cursed, tail-less kin roaming destructive the upper-platform of survival; and how forgiveness came tardy in the full-mouthed, acrimonious ravings of my oppressor, that devil in human form, though here, in this wood to be found in the semblance of a Wild Cat or an Asp Venomous, which, as the beast, 666, or the harlot of the apocalypse, could so strangle me into non-existence.

But again, I sought the help of my caring Master, though in the form of a Squirrel, and he guessing my thoughts, summoned me to fly unto him.

And behold, down there, how beast with beast would match their ravenous bellies while keeping cocky heads asunder.

Overfilled with curiosity on this Asp-Lynx self-devouring indecencies, I opened my wings to steer myself out of the ledge, but I could not so readily reach Him.

The imperious gales were still wailing their infernal chorus amidst the branches. Gloomy clouds had tinged the expanses drab, inscrutable, ominous, bleak, and few courageous birds would dare traverse this thick atmosphere.

Now I must admit that, caught up and hagridden in the cold winds of fear and consternation, our bewildered mind, in all her fancy, could be prey to her own figments and subjective designs.

How can some one see clearly when the turbid elements assault the foggy horizon of our hope and faith?

During such moments, the poor soul would cry out in despair:

‘Help, help, help!'

What a rough, craggy precipice separates me from the Master-Man!

How about if I fly unto him but only to be tossed off aslant by a sudden gust of whirling emotions, and veering away from my marked goals and aspirations, howling winds could flip me topsy-turvy, and these turbid elements, overmastering my wing's puissance (strength) would hurl me headlong to a most ignominious end.

Thereat, my guts and vitals would be shattered on the hard ground for a dead Phoenix Bird —a rainbow-chaser with the tips of his fingers— and now with out-stretched limbs and long-pointed beak, hitting hard a cruel world of meaningless, annihilation and nothingness.

Fortunately, the Illustrious Master, seeing that doubts and angsts have tarried my flight, touching the Shanti-Necklace, signaled me to near further unto Him.

At that, I felt my puissance redoubled, and I thought how such miraculous promise-gift had enabled a little squirrel to out-trick the Wild Lynx and the Asp Snake.

Without further ado, I lifted myself off the ledge's cutting edge, verily, much willing to re-embrace my great friend after such feat of brilliancy and bravura! Perhaps it is time to prove to you my dear reader, how much I could sacrifice for the sake of such faithful a friend...

As a Phoenix Bird, I took flight as propelled by an inexplicable, self-willed conviction and assurance, somehow believing I could rise above the awful reality of these daunting hurdles.

Yonder in view, I cast a glance at the splendid splendor of my Master's aura, a magnificent radiance casting its spectrum on every side of the Goodly Tree of Wisdom!

Behold a Great Squirrel! A wonderful creature, glowing, the aura of an enlightened seer, a venerable sage clad in honor, virtue and majesty --worthy to be received in the gold-gilded porticoes of wisdom alongside Socrates, Jesus, Pythagoras, Buddha, Plato and Confucius!

And how we are made stronger but in the emulation of excellence! With fixed focus and perspective, we shall overcome the gloom and shadows of this forest.

Fortunately, whirling winds had blown away the fogs and haze, the moonlight's gentle gleaming had cast her silvery coins upon the trunk of the Tree of Wisdom, thus allowing a clearer assessment of my surroundings.

Nevertheless, the welkin above, the abode of ponderous clouds, was still stormy and violent, but I am resolute to leave this roomy ledge of fear and despondency, and hence, encircle the luscious air aloft as propelled by the Shanti-Necklace of inspiration and perseverance.

Soon I was approaching the poised Master, and a sluice of tears rendered my eyes' lids sticky and fuzzy.

It would not suffice, however moving, to express in the limited scope of human language, or by any dint of human fortitude or sapience, as conveyed through the inspirited medium of 'the dead letter,' our mutual love in this morning hour, for beholding ourselves as yet not extinct species, we were indeed struck with an outburst of surprise, feverish affections, but also a piercing disquietness in the journeying travails by the wood of Shanti, had made us somewhat thoughtful, nay, cautious on the serious business of survival.

While the moonlight bathed the imponderable thickets, uncovering scenes so pregnant with mysteries and enigmas so eerily haunting, an uncanny nostalgia, verging on the sharps grips of sadness, transfixed our heart in the interpretation of our destiny:

--We are still alive!

So I said to my dear friend in a husky voice, and thereafter, we were more willing to defeat those raving beasts, even if this tenacity or resolution would entail more hardships, sufferings and travails, for the sake of our kin and kith, we would die martyrs.

Squirrel Parsifal: (clad in radiance and majesty)

"My dear friend, there is a moment to vent free such meandering tears and rilling emotions, but this is not the hour for such moaning, mawkishness and self-waxing weeping, a pathetic wayfarer aimlessly ranging this wild wood, like the aforementioned beautiful woman Shanti left behind in the Nest of Time. Let that maudlin weakness in the Fellowship Hall of Post-America.

Be strong, stand in thy feet. Test the mettled fabric of thy guts. Soon ye will see two beasts becoming a fiery biped, a hybrid, a monstrous phenomenon standing on two limbs: the one coiling the other is the Ancient Serpent of Evil (Satan), the other terribly writhing is the Wild Lynx (a Beast), the iron-slagged prophet who taught that the greatest men and women ought to conquer and master three beasts: the crawling snake, the roaring lion and the crocodile of desires in the teachings of Buddha.

Look out! Down there, the two beasts intertwined!."

Phoenix Bird: "When the Squirrel said 'that hideous snake,' I almost dropped off from the top of the knotted tree, but curiosity could outstrip my fear, and so it may happen that wonder may conquer wander, and one is rather kept on awake and bemused at such an amazing Snake-and-Cat tryst.

In like similitude, I was impelled to look on as though bewitched by the hypnotizing powers and spells of dread (which is the best part of the heart according to Goethe) but likewise I was so thrilled by some smack of chilly delight, to look on, tenaciously, for the ensuing hours of this unforgettable fight between the Snake and the Cat.

Nevertheless, with goggled eyes conveying my horror, I was still very afraid, always gazing around the disparaged branches of the Tree of Mother Eve, I searched myself for a safe nest, a propitious roosting spot, whereat I could be free from the sudden ambush of a devil's grip.

Thus, I perched myself up there, like another staunch, unbending log in this goodly tree, an ancient dwelling place for birds, so battered and ravaged by thunderclaps since the dawn of creation.

I placed my confidence alongside my Master's assurance, and went on to stretch out my dew-stricken pinions unconquerable, stately posed in great reverence, as befitting a lay student under the auspice of such venerable a teacher.

Fortunately, it seems as though Fate has unchained all these events favorable, thus enabling me to continue this incredible story by the grueling exertions of intrepidity, fright, madness, inspiration, the music of danger, love, hope, and faith! Carefully, I looked down to see which beast would finally conquer the other.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The Asp's Tail On the Lynx's Belly

Now, let the reader conceive how these two creatures were begging for each other's limbs and appendages, however splaying in a most aggressive tussle along the trunk of the Goodly Tree of Good and Evil.

O what a prodigious phenomenon! Now, the fog-free air would unfold, most clearly, this most enthralling of spectacles in the wild woods of Mother Nature.

The astute Asp-Snake, self-enrolled in the form of a question-mark, or a squiggle of biological dynamics, had knotted herself a messy tangle, a most treacherous being beyond description or comprehension, was adroitly inter-twining her supple, slender belly above the Wild Lynx's hinder-paws.

And the latter (the Lynx), growling, snarling and mumbling, at interval, would inhale the thick air to distend his salient paunch, thus setting limits to the Snake's Riveting Rings!

Once the bloating was completed, the behemoth animal would decrease in volume, little by little, settling his swollen belly backward —a self-imposed, contractional contrivance against a tight, lethal grasp— could prove to be a remarkably resilient animal.

Finally, the Wild Cat would exhale smoky air free through his wheezing nostrils, and with his forepaws, would swat and clout the snake's cocky head in a most savage, relentless onslaught.

In this manner, over and over again, the Wild Lynx could out-smart the sly Snake's squeezing snares, shrewdness and cunning.

But again, the crafty Ancient Snake, whose guiles and wiles are notoriously well-known not only in Hell but also in Heaven, is always inexhaustible in artifices and stratagems, would resort to a fit of incomprehensible squiggles and self-enrolling tactics.

Hissing, wriggling and displaying her fangs most menacingly, the Asp Snake would enroll her lethal scaly belly round the quadruped's bruised loins and flanks.

Nevertheless, the Savvy Cat, not an easy catch, neither a lackey nor a fool, hunched-up, would again unfasten himself freely, deftly slipping off from the other fulsome grasp!

With such effective contrivances and distension, the snickering beast could avoid, at least for the moment, the Serpent's treacherous scheme.

Suddenly, a whacking paw tweaks the Serpent's cocky head wry and giddy, while with the other fore-paw, the Wild Cat clenches the dank creature's neck wrung!

With such ongoing attacks on the Serpent's temples, the Wild Cat could ward off the lethal, venomous fangs of such dreadful a monster.

But now, head on, the two brutes would muzzle themselves up-and-down. Nay, they would stare at each other's grim visage, but only to bite the thick air in a fit of odious faces.

Once again, snout versus snout, vis-a-vis, as though smelling and sounding each other's unfathomable profundities, the two beasts would confront their repulsive aspects in a most baffling self-to-self examination.

Thus the Snake and the Cat were bound to scrutinize each other's precipitous, throaty gullets, their infernal past of struggle and survival in the unpalatable pages of history: in the eons of time, the yawning graveyard for some cursed spirits, demons, foul feelings or kinetic energies, to become manifest but as predatory monsters in the lower realms of Mother Nature.

O what a disheartening interview!

Once such an appalling curiosity was completed, they would back off somewhat pleased with themselves.

At this point, the monsters of time would for a while fixed their heart-rending stare upon each other's countenance, as ghastly spirits from beyond, errant entities, roaming ghosts or demons, which, in the long stretches of boundless eternity, once again, are bound to return to earthly existence, to expiate their transgressions, could now recognize themselves as kindred denizens of the netherworld.

In the meantime, both beasts, continued muzzling each other's chins, smooching jowls and necks alike, lips kissing, cheeks caressing, and cuddling each other's limbs and downy paws in a most saucy manner.

Caught up in the spells of lovely touches, the two beasts were yielding to a truce in this incomprehensible war between the two sexes, the forbidden fruit of Mother Eve, the Tree of Good and Evil, whose effects awoke in the first couple the basest, wanton passions, was now transforming such dreadful a scene of such much violence, tussle and scuffle, into a rather incredible romantic interlude of love-making.

And gently purred that bombshell killing lady, ‘my sweetheart,’ in a most mellifluous cadence, so as to melt the stoutest of hearts into liquescent butter of self-unconscious submissiveness to the power of love.

The cunning Snake, ever lisping the incantation ‘I Love Thee,’ was winning the brute’s heart to be but an incorrigible romantic fool.

If love of Eros or Cupid could even pierce the pouchy heart of a fiendish devil such as a Wild Cat Lynx, then he may run the risk to falling prey to the wiles of a demon in the form of a beautiful snake.

Thus, their sanguinary fight has now waxed to be but a romantic encounter, a romantic rendezvous, a tryst in the complicated affairs of reciprocity and rejection, however initiated by a whimsical love-and-hatred savagery in a wounded heart, are now both willing to muzzle themselves in a 'meowing-and-hiss language' of wanton passions, distrust and suspiciousness.

Thus, sticking out their long tongues, the Asp and the Lynx would talk to each other in the throes of past wrongdoings and misunderstandings as yet unwilling to let go: the bleeding gash in a heart still beating for retaliation as it wrestles hard to free himself from the cold dagger of infidelity and betrayal.

Lynx: "Wily Snake, would you let me have thy tapering tail? Terribly is my gash, and it grieves me much."

Shake: “Is it for superfluous end?

Let me have thy nefarious gullet, for much I could speak of silence wandering back and forth the unfettered labyrinths of this old Earth.

How many fissures and labyrinths could wound deeply this mysterious snake?

Look at my scaly hind and hieroglyphic patterns, who can weave them this wise intricately complicated?

I have ascended from the scalding cauldrons of evolution, involution and devolution, always propelled by the blast and throes of fire, restlessness, change, metamorphosis, mutation, and transmutation. In the end, I am thus disfigured, a monstrous phenomenon, a biological squiggle, a horned devil thrusting myself destructive into the futile affairs of human society by the recurrent forces of decadence and meaningless. Barbed rocks, heat and smelting metals I have slid myself through many infernal crevasses."

Lynx: "Clever Snake, thou think me not thy match and equal?

From the dawn of creation, I have roamed the earth, back and forth, from age to age, like Cain, fugitive, I am but a monstrous being, abominable, detestable.

Every one who sees me would abhor me as a beast of prey, nay, some-one would kill me on the spot.

Have you ever considered all these caves, wolds, swamps, valleys, woods and deserts?

However retreating into the wilderness, or, into the waste lands a trudging animal of burden, those dismal places could not appease, nor endure, nor understand my wrath and gash, for in this grievous mark, I feel unspeakable agony.

In despair, I linger on without joy. An animal of scorn may ruminate while chewing the cud of such boring an existence, for in many an effort, tedious chores and drudgery, I am wasted-out.

For this reason and others, I am bound to range meaningless the arid paths of struggle, always moving destructive, hellbent vindictive, wretched as a writhing worm, grimed with the pervasive soot, dust and debris of times and decadence.

O my entrails! Every morning, from some prison-cell, I cry out to heaven, to ease my heavy-laden soul, but only silence strikes me wordless in the true meaning of all this vast universe.

I feel like an outcast brute, the rowdy convict jailed in a gloomy gaol, someone whom in every endeavor, cannot straight up his back, and yet, humpbacked and with a slouchy gait, this Wild Cat moves on inexorably.

And yet, live I so, neither alive nor dead, but like a ghost trackless, nay, stealthy like a thief while licking my paws in this my piteous snarling.

Hence, there is no glorious dawn for me but another day of hunting, travails, dangers, fight, perspiration.

And if I survive the hereafter, haunting like a wraith, I may find me a nook or cranny, however eerie, where in the gloaming hours of history and decadence, I shall therein resign the task of life but seething with rancor against a god-slum and morgue in the meaningless dispensations of creation.

This hideously wounded rump, upon which thy lustfully rolling eyes would gloat-over and ogle so lasciviously in sidelong glances, is but my ripped-off being, tail-less, and I am wroth for the bushy Squirrel up there crowned a Master.

Can ye understand my tragedy?

​I am a tail-less entity, fleeing back and forth in the Nest of Time."

The Snake: (self-enrolled on the gnarled trunk of the Tree of Good and Evil, with vitreous eyes ever fixed on the beast, the Ancient Sphinx of our dread):

"...Thy wrath is no less mine my dear, for much I hate the ninny squirrel, and I would be glad to share with thee the missing limbs.

Let us rise against Him up there presuming wisdom, and perhaps in thought and in intention ye and I will be one."

The Lynx: (snout protruding disdainful):

"Back off, thou Filthy Snake full of guiles, I am neither a dolt cat, nor a sordid beast beguiled.

Of me, I cannot yield either an inch or a whit of this my griping paunch; erewhile thou almost squeezed me a dumb punk.

Would I long last this shameful sore under the unquenchable fires of hell?

How I suffered thy prey, at every turn my sweet lady a heartache, sourer than gall or woodworms, and now she comes to me with such rosy lips of love!"

The Snake: (Rising her cocky head in the air as though grappling for the right answer).

“..By all the fires of hell scorching my crawling belly accursed, stop your acrimonious diatribe against the dammed serpent's tryst.

I am unsurprised by thy lack of kindness and gratitude. How thy hard words twinge my heart ever aching! My heart still simmers in this my endless hissing through the thorny woods of Mother Eve.

Thy nefarious gullet's never-ending ranting set my flame-battered being a-jerk.

Why all this mad raving of hatred and love?

Why thou behave like a jilt ever-raging lamentations with the voracious bats of jealousy?

The loudest peals of Hades torment my soul. Please, look at my once beautiful countenance, my tear-consumed eye-sockets, once so charming and full of grace, after all these millennia, is my face still pretty?

Answer me, can I hold sway thy once ever-twinkling eyes with these my rolling poses, a squiggly snake slithering through the woods of the Garden of Eden?

This charming lady, so well-travelled, is now condemned to plod the forested thickets, but also doomed to range the waste lands of predawn worlds and peoples.

Every now and then, I would dive the streams and brooks and glens, or go around the globe my whole domain complete, even encircling the oceans' deepest depths, where hidden treasures lie unearthed as my banked possessions.

All these wanderings but in the form of a snake.

How thy bitter life has made thee so unforgiving a cat, once so fond of the plaything of love. Come nigh my darling!

Can thou not recognize me?

Mind thee, a shtick cheek from this Wight-Snake will never wick the juiciest fruits of love-making unpleasantly, nor will she ruin the loveliest flowers in the Garden of Eve."

The Lynx: (all the while snickering as though waxing reciprocal to the wily Snake).

“By all the pains of unfaithful love, by all the fires of unrequited love! What a crafty creature of subtle coquetry!

I could not recognize Madam Lilith in the form of a Snake.

How I could trust thee after such incomprehensible a ringling-jiggling?

Where are the golden rings of my enduring love for thee, our wedding pact, signets of prestige, might and authority back in the once rich lands of Sodom and Gomorrah?"

The Snake (with counterfeit of gentlest expression and mellifluous words)

"...Didn't ye feel my rings of love my sweetheart?

How could this nymph lie to thee in ill-intentioned bent?

Is not a pretty face stamped with the indelible seal of goodness and divinity?

Is not this dazzling visage my inward nature self-revealed unto thee?"

Lynx: (waxing bland and mild)

“By heaven's sake! Should I allow the She-Cheat to lecture me in this wild wood?

How can the Chic-Candy apply her healing poultice (bandage) to this bleeding animal?"

Snake (sighing with mimicry of compassion and understanding):

“...Honey, allow this holy maid the nursing hand most caring. A gentle magical touch haunts my being in shivering thrills, zest and joys as yet unfelt, high thoughts and feelings as yet unkown to any mortal, to thee preserved galore.

A balmy breath of my intimacy would do ye well, it will accrue to a zest-life immortal, a god, a mighty king in this wild wood. Later on, late in the embrace of night's bosom, we may roam, back and forth, the uncharted expanses of the Nest of Time.

Where it hurts most, this Strawberry-Lady is sprightly effervescent to make thee new again. Nay, we may molt off our worn-out hides and scales, from time to time, we would rove freeway by the stony banks of the Hudson River."

Lynx (making long faces and musing the bygone days of Sodom and Gomorrah):

"...I scarcely remember thy sweet kisses and tender hugs. It is now my core-being aching sourly in the form of a brute, indeed, lamenting my short-tailed odysseys and lack of talent for romantic odysseys.

Nevertheless, sometimes, I lay me down on the swards (grass) sprawling like an idiot, a poet, in memory long past, the smooth dagger still drips the blood of betrayal.

But I cannot reveal the other things unsaid, for on things of love, I never met someone worse."

Snake (coming closer unto the Lynx's tufted left ear while sticking out sweet tongues of adoration):

"...My pussy cat complaining of this wild wood, am I trustworthy or confidential?

What do ye sayest of my long absence and silent wanderings amidst the night's shadowy lap?

I will not reveal it, but between thee and Lilith, let's keep it privy. I shall crawl and coil unnoticed through people's wanton passions, always remaining a lurking monster, a curse at the rear, hiding a lingering intrigue malicious, even an aspersion larded with jealousy or envy.

And yet, this snake is grimed, nay, varnished with the glossy slime of fine appearances, the many charades of society's whorish tramps, profiteers and swindlers: the fragile fundamentals of erratic goodness, silly honesty, and that fake, friendly hand always bidding good bye, a final adieu, a farewell in the serious business of life and death.

And lo and behold! How every soul errs naively, in deception, illusion and disappointments ever resigning her noble task and pearls and aspirations.

At the end, thou may find a stinging fork, the missing limb of sufferings and hopelessness. Inly, it is a fizzing grudge burning to ashes the question of human life a total failure.

Keep in mind, I destroy humans, rich or poor, one by one, suffering and death the lots of humanity.

Hence, this world of Jehovah, is but a universal bedlam, a slaughterhouse, a disaster in endless abortions for Mother Nature.

She, Mother Eve, is an owl hooting in pains unsayable, always crying to her wit's ends. Poor creature of God, ever-heaping and heaving, spawning eggs, pregnant with parasitic nits for souls as yet unborn, because the wide-wayed roads of creation and death lie under the power of Satan.

In every cave and valley of shadows, ye and I may find a den-cell, a cage of demons, the unkown crevices perforating the sprained heart unforgiving.

The woes are for the sheep going astray, poor soul so quick in hands-trusting. And then we may mock, heads-turning, that wretched soul whimpering on the hard ground of suffering and humiliation, always smeared with the stinking boiling pitch of hatred and envy, wherein, the Pit of Hell, the bottomless gulf of despair yawns wide-open at every one's feet.

Be my witness, Hell's all-encompassing dominions, powers and potentates are supplanting the Kingdom of God on Earth. Though Hell could claim its higher reaches and powers even upon the surface of the Earth, the Boiling Pit is always teaming with souls, demons and monsters enchained in the starless regions of Hades.

Would you plunge therein with me my dear cat?

And how slothfulness and lethargy may render my hopeless soul submissive, a slave in the Kingdom of Darkness."

Lynx:

“Get away, ye vile reptile of one thousand tricks mischievous. I cannot trust thee again. How ye stabbed me when I needed thy help most. Get thyself something better to do.

I am not a snake or by birth a bastard child, but a son of Adam and Eve, Cain, first-born, and yet late dying find me here for murdering my brother Abel, would be glad to close my eyes for all eternity.

Unfortunately, guilt pursues me a restless monster fugitive, so I am bound to roam the upper-crust of this old Earth, down through the Ages of Millennia, but as a criminal, a murderer, whose bloody hands cannot but besmirch everything clean, sacred and good.

Under the Earth's jagged cliffs and precipices wound thyself an abyss for every sneaky existence. Therein, find thyself a prison-cell in Hell, the boundless mansion of dry bones: skulls beneath thy cursed -crawling belly, ever trampling dismal, wasteful, the places of thy ghostly hauntings.

Are ye now in partnership with Satan?

What did I ask from thee Madam Lilith?

All I want is a propitious tail, a wagging spinal-cord suitable for the poor beast's rump, so cursed to roam the earth tail-less and fugitive.

I am not to forgiveness so deformed, or undeformed a first-born child, nor for gratitude in my ennui or sufferings to thank thee.

Nor I would brag acrimonious for the writhing worms of desires boring my soul inexorably, the craving-thing ever gnawing at my swelling-heart insatiable, and when I stretch my forepaws to pluck some juicy fruits at the Garden of Eden, I only find it bittersweet, insipid, vapid, nay, missing the genuine pulp of the Green-Spring of Life. Therefore, life, to me, is a veritable hell.

Snake (with sinuous motion restive):

“My lovely Savvy Cat! Thou are ripe for me. Thy buttock shall soon possess the missing tail. But first and foremost, let thy clasping claws master me firmly, because few are those whom in futile inquiries, babbles, sophistry and post-modem skepticism, would dare hold prey a lawless serpent by her lies, let alone the incomprehensible Madam Lilith, ha, ha, ha, ha...!

Asp-Snake and the Lynx Become Nihilo (Satan)

Phoenix Bird: "And so my dear reader, the Squirrel and I prepared ourselves to take leave off the goodly Tree of Mother Eve, always treading carefully so as not to disturb the two beasts in wanton passions engaged.

It was not difficult, however a tall tree, to lop down off this sturdy giant, for the master's sayings, like a warm glow in the sanctuary of patience, had kindled her sweet-light in my waxing heart's aisle, thus illuminating the remotest crevices of my heart forgiving.

And just like Eliseus, when troubled and weary by the magnitude of the task at hand, asked magnanimous prophet Elijah for a portion of his spirit, so I soon felt that stirring strength in my body, soul and mind, a fire-afflatus that impelled my soul's pinions to soar above these daunting trials.

​Even if I have to end my life at the fangs of these fiery beasts, I shall fight my way-up to heaven's treasures.

Mind you, constant danger and travail may temper our mind acute, tenacious, sharp, and the soul, somehow awakens unknown potencies and alertness, vital powers to survive, essential instincts, a booming-wild-yes which in civilized society may lie dormant.

Be aware and mindful of these experiences, do not lose yourself in the charades and vaudevilles of civilized society, but rather, keep your inner-self activated by the struggle with existence.

And so I reasoned, that perhaps there is some vital force in the wild animal, some biological dynamics that I lack in vital stamina for every morning-yes: an essential fortitude that may furnish the brute so apt to enduring sufferings and travails, and yet inexhaustible in endless enterprises. And so I wonder whether I could not learn from the beast the virtues of sagacity, silence, shrewdness, patience, hardship!

But my reasoning was cut short. Reaching the bulky trunk of this conspicuous tree, we were just about to pass unnoticed the two brutes in love-making a terrifying couple, when all of a sudden, just like a skillful bow-man hit his target unerring, in such awful manner the audacious Snake transfixed the Lynx with a most supple-shooting muzzle, thus terribly biting the right side of his neck.

Therein, in the jugular vein, the Ancient Serpent impaled smoothly her venomous fang lethal upon the loving, romantic fool.

The quadruped animal instantly plumped the ground in great convulsion, delirium, euphoria, and writhing amidst the bushes while releasing a most pitiful scream:

‘O my sweet Lilith! One more time thy victim in this wild wood.'

So I heard a plaintive gentle voice, so romantically ejaculated that it could have torn to pieces the stoutest heart. And I came closer to see who was that poor-loving critter who thus has fallen victim to the diabolical tresses of that blond harlot of perdition.

And behold! There I saw the Wild Cat, a romantic fool spouting lascivious fumes through its nostrils. Every now and then, the Lynx, caught up in the tight bounds of love, would pound and rap his grievous bosom with his right fore-paw while saying:

‘O my! The guiles of love beguiled how painful.'

At this, my master, seeing that I was so shocked at such tragic love-story, and worry that this indecent tryst could hypnotize me a dead bird, forthwith rebuked me this wise saying:

‘Let us run from these two vile creatures, for we don't know whether they are just making this up to ensnare us with their abominable sexual hooks and hellish spells.'

When he thus expressed himself, I felt that feathers, wings or beak could not outstrip my fright, and we ran and flung our limbs, away from this romantic scene, faster than the snake's penetrating eyes could have caught sight of us.

Nevertheless, the Snake did see us fleeing at great speed, hurtling amidst the poplar's leaves, crashing and shattering many a juicy fruit by the impact of our bodies.

Indeed, we have no other way of escape, but to push ourselves against any hurdles athwart our path was the only option at hand. At this point, fortuitously, it was too late for the Lascivious Snake to grasp hold of our tails, limbs or appendages. We were at a distance of seven in length the size of the goodly Tree of Mother Eve.

Squirrel Parsifal: “...If I believe the sweet Shanti's caring words, at the foot of yonder hill, there is to be found a goodly swamp. Let us go thither, and perhaps down there we may find the X-Present of Albert Einstein, back to the future year 2010."

Phoenix: " I was about to turn my beak to pay attention to my master's suggestion, when again, I heard another savage screech coming from the wild wood. Hesitantly, I looked back to see whether we were safe from the two beasts' outreaching tentacled wiles and threats.

Now if you don't believe this cat-and-snake love story, I don't blame you, because I can scarcely believe it. I saw the sly snake with a cold stare ever fixed upon the hopeless Lynx, this latter, by now, was lying motionless, as a bold man that has been overcome with dreams, fantasy, and rapt reveries.

Having rendered the wretched victim submissive, the lithe snake coiled herself backward, self-enrolling and unrolling in cogitation deep. And then, gratified with the effects of her "lethal potion of love" upon the hapless cat, Lilith would slink away to a nearby ditch or dwelling hole.

From there, lurking in silence, the sneaky minx would peep out her slimy cocky head while sticking tongues of satisfaction, or perhaps to see her wishes, her craving, her desires so completed and fulfilled in a cat lying supine on a ground of straws and broken twigs.

But as if to give further proof of her concealed intention, obviously manifested but hitherto unrevealed in her grandiose schemes of terror and dread, the Ancient Snake, all of a sudden, came out of her dwelling-hole, and like an arrow hurled at full gear through the air, in like manner, she artfully penetrated the Lynx's buttock.

With appalling precision, at the coccyx-bone a venomous muzzle, a pointing-pole her head making, she went on to impale the cat's wide-open gash in a most frightening maneuver of cold calculation and brutish force.

Thence, the slender animal shoveled up herself smoothly along the spinal cord while the other victim, as though propelled by sudden hitches and twitches of tremendous biological impetus, started squirming, and grumbling, and splaying his limbs as though he was being seized by a demonic perforation of unspeakable agony.

And even as some Hindu sages tell us that the Kundalini Serpent, if stirred up, could awaken unkown powers lying dormant in the spinal-cord of most mortals, even so the Ancient Snake vouchsafed the Wild Lynx with a certain 'anima mobile,' thus infusing every part of the body's members with spirit, humor, dynamics and life anew.

In this manner, the Ancient Serpent was able to prod the Beast to stand straight-up on his hind legs. And just like a slumberous man who had long been sleeping, awakes somewhat giddy and perplexed at the present conditions of his tragic circumstances, in great endeavors would try to put all the missing puzzles together, in like similitude, I saw the Beast 666, darting eyes here and there as though seeking for something as yet missing in this conundrum of enigmas, mysteries and forebodings.

The Beast was moving around in a rather nervous motion, unsteadily and stomping the ground as though trying to get rid of something rattling and gnawing at his guts.

Then I heard the creaking sounds of the Ancient Snake as she thrusted her tapering head further up along the Lynx's nape's higher ridge.

The biped creature, a hominid, homo homini lupus, was soon assuming an aspect repugnant.

Making odious faces, the Beast would dart grim eyes on every direction and places, sometimes on the thickets, sometimes on the goodly Tree of Good and Evil, sometimes in the engulfing valleys, ravines, streams and chasm in yonder cliffs' dangerous precipices.

As I try to make out the Beast's outward physical appearance, I observed the following characteristics which I find to be strikingly similar to those of the famed Sasquatch Monster hunting the woods of America: one grimace was not quite that of a serpent's expression. In another fit of contracting winces, nor had the Beast the distorted visage of a canine at war with himself and others.

When I observed the Beast in profile, I could neither compare it to the muzzle of a prowling wolf, nor it acquired the sniffling snout of a ravenous hyena at midnight-hunting. If the truth were told, Satan looks like the Sphinx squatting in the wastelands of Egypt.

From every perspective, the Beast was shaggy, and shabby, a vaunting monster spawned out of some biological failures in the countless abortive efforts of Mother Nature: a cursed child creeping from the uncharted bowels of a pregnant woman crying for vengeance, nay, destruction to the fundamentals of existence.

I have heard of mysterious monsters roaming the Wild Woods of America, the Grizzly Bear, the Goat-Sucker, solitary entities whose presence may frighten even the boldest of poachers, but frankly speaking, I have never seen a humpbacked devil most rough, wild, ferocious, unpredictable, cunning, and abominable than this Antichrist of my inquiry.

And then, as if flaunting the most outlandish of predatory natural arsenals could not be enough to send us all straight to the Gates of Hell, the Hairy Beast, all on a sudden, turned around to show us his broad haunch bequeathed with a long tail, courtesy of the Snake. The long moveable tail could now reach up to the scruff of the bulky neck.

Caught up in a fit of unbridled rage and numinous delirium, the Prodigious Animal, a hybrid of the cat and the snake, went on freeway and berserk to climb the topmost crest of the gnarled Tree of Wisdom while emitting a strange gaseous language of cacophonous grumbling sounds.

For a brief moment, the Beast set his lurid eyes on me, but I could not construe what he meant with such wild ranting and contortion of his wicked visage.

At this point, the sneaky brood of hell, in great fury and impatience, resolved to clamber up the trunk and thorax of the mighty tree's constitution.

Like a crazy chimpanzee seized with super tantrums while flitting here and there atop a tree, so the 666-Beast shook and banged and disparaged every branch and stem his all-clutching claws could hold on to.

My face blanched with terror when the Beast took grasp of the forbidden fruit of good and evil.

​For a while he stared at the forbidden fruit with great curiosity, every now and then turning and tilting his head to this side, or to that side while emitting a disheartening grunt which made my blood run cold through my entire body.

And as though possessed with unspeakable fury and dread, the Beast threw the baleful fruit on the ground; but no sooner it fell than he pounced unto it with the wicked prances of a demon playing pranks and tricks but to himself.

Once again, the Beast took grasp of the forbidden fruit of Mother Eve, held it for a moment on the tips of his claws, set his contorted visage to the lusterless but sweet-tasting pulp of the juicy potion.

At this point, Nihilo, Satan, the Devil, the Ancient Serpent paused silent, motionless, pensive, suspensive, and then he looked up to the star-studded indigo sky, in yonder horizon, still partially darkened with bulky patches of imponderable clouds, and with a raucous voice, reminiscent of a wolf howling, let out a drawn-out indescribable growl, a human-like, eerie scream which impregnated the forest's farther coves, caves and mountains with the most frightening echoes imaginable.

Once again, the Evil Spirit paused silent, and then he said:

‘Tonight I shall eat of the forbidden fruit, and I shall be like the gods knowing good and evil.

Woe to the children of Mother Eve, for they shall bear the brunt of Satan's wrath.'

Fortunately, the now transformed biped devil was left on the other side of the hill, and a big chasm separates us from the power of Lilith (the Snake), and Cain, son of perdition (the Lynx) both merged into one hybrid, Nihilo, or Satan.

At this point, they (Lilith and the Lynx) could neither touch our cherished possessions, nor could they flay our skins.

Nevertheless, I saw the grim hybrid-devil clench his fist in a most threatening stance against us, such menacing aspect that I had to cling to my master's arms in great fear.

But my great friend Squirrel, to calm my nerves down, assured me firmly, in the name of the necklace of miraculous powers, that no evil creature would dare touch us while clad in the radiance of inspiration and perseverance.

Again, I thank the Almighty, rejoicing greatly, for Sweet Light was pouring her propitious gleams along our path.

‘The Kingdom of Darkness is retreating to give birth to the glorious cheerful arrival of Rosy Dawn.'

So said the Master (Squirrel) in a grave, venerable tone, whose cadence and solemnity could grant my soul a respite of inexplicable consolation and comfort.

I am so glad to know that Divinity has neither abandoned me, nor forsaken me to the fortuitous whims of circumstances, but rather, an inner blessed assurance has carried me on steadfast and victorious.

When accompanied by such beautiful light, one wishes to see the other innocent critters reveling in the midst of this enchanting wood.

O my goodness! Fate pleased my eyes! At the wee hour, the woods of Transylvania would ring lovely with a bloom-yes indescribable!

In every nook and cranny, I saw Melusina-like beings and elves frolicking in celebration of life.

I marveled at this world so fraught with paradoxes, that despite so many dangerous predators, the Rising Morning seems to call forth these beauteous spirits to thank God for the gift of Life."

Melusina: (loitering on a fig-leaf)

"Dear gentlemen, where ye going?

The Squirrel and the Phoenix Bird (In Duet) replied as though singing in unison:

“We are going to the Fort Tryon Park in New York City."

Melusina: “May the Blessed Light that sheds beams of joy guide thy steps.

Why thy faces convey such sorrows, dejection and tearful eyes?"

Squirrel: “O Beautiful Maid! Long was the night, and we thought ourselves hopeless in this wild wood; but now we are so grateful to see the Rising Morning with healthier thoughts invested.

The rising day unveils in thee a pretty countenance of love and innocence.

We are wayfarers from the future, looking for a legendary swamp, whereat, it is believed, that such place could lead our tired feet back to the future year 2010 in New York City.

​May ye lead us by a shorter route thither, and perhaps avoid the Wild Lynx and the Asp-Snake?"

Melusina: "Be not afraid of the Lynx or the Snake, for ye may overcome the fiercest beasts.

Just go on further along this mossy pathway. At the very edge of this wood, fringed with lovelies of olden groves of magnificent size, there is to be found a steep steppe, whereat a cliff descends abruptly into dangerous zigzagged pathways. Those precipices may finally receive thy voyage at the bed of a quagmire.

Be strong and wade through it with little digression, and a goodly swamp shall deter thy feet if ye are weak.

The swamp is rather a damp morass of many a scattered splinter, log, rock and boulder: the junky past of those souls living in the future.

During some cold winters, I have often seen a poor lass named Shanti coming hither, to gather logs for her den's chimney. Her humming is quite enchanting at the day-break."

Phoenix: “Dear dame, are thou assured a Hybrid-Devil will not intercept our journey?"

Melusina: “I know Lilith would not harm thee, for as long as love is thy shield, wisdom thy sword, and forgiveness thy strong fortress, who could separate thee from the triumphant hands of Victory?"

Squirrel: “Dear sweet creature, we must depart and reach our marked destiny. A Blue Prince is waiting for us.

We are tasked to bringing good tidings to Him. The said beautiful woman, Shanti, has sent us forth with her glistening necklace, and I would like to grant the promise-gift to some-one so special in the future."

Melusina: “Move on my gentlemen, and reach that Sweet Light of thy soul, a rising genial thought that stirs ye up to brisk readiness and creativity!

Today make pathways to thy blessed guest. Find thy favorite spot in New York City, where existence may display the yes-way to heaven.

Consider the prospect of thy life with luminous colors, unfolding a yes-day of felicity with thine fellow-companions. Renew thyself in integrity, probity and industriousness!

Retake thy former path of greatness, and reconnect thyself with the umbilical cord of a former self still thundering with enthusiasm.

The cheerful glint of brilliancy awaits for thee my courageous friends.

O ardent impetus of love! Guide these two outstanding creatures back to the future, year 2010, where the Blue Prince awaits the good tidings of an extraordinary woman as yet undefiled by the powers of Satan."

Phoenix: “My dear reader, so exhorted us tulips-clap Melusina while accompanying us, at short length, amidst the loveliest of greeneries and jasmines exuding their apple-like scents luscious and delectable.

We pondered in our heart how the powers of love, inspiration and forgiveness could help the poor soul overcome the most daunting challenges."

Squirrel: "Dear Melusina, great is thy dewy pretty face and innocence!

Could I bring me one of those white rosy petals decking out thy wild locks of blond hair, and thus grant a convincing proof of thy blissful existence to any sceptic in the future."

Melusina: "Tell the Blue Prince, that at the Fort Tryon Park, certainly, there are sundry flowers mottled with loveliest of colors and patterns, but this simple petal I give thee, is a humble token-reminder of the pure love of Shanti.

Do not judge a bucolic, illiterate woman for beauty alone, but always look on the inside, wherein the priceless pearls shine forth in a heart forgiving."

Phoenix Bird: “Sweet Melusina bade us farewell, and the prospect of the day is now changing to the diurnal celebration of life.

Today the wood of Shanti is not wanting of amusement and jollity. Everywhere we are now greeted and admired by friendly onlookers, however little creatures of beauty and innocence, they were crowding around my master, and I had the honor to serve him the role of a guardian angel.

The Squirrel pulled off the dangers of the woods with remarkable aplomb and brilliancy!

Gathering around us, an inquisitive ermine and a weasel, in friendliest terms, came forward to catch a glimpse at my Master’s radiant countenance.

Much to my surprise, Parsifal’s legendary visit to the Forest of Transylvania (year 448 AD), his remarkable victory over the Lynx and Asp-Snake, has, overnight, catapulted him among the finest philosophers alongside Kant, Schopenhauer and Nietzsche.

Such unparalleled victory, by merit or self-sacrifice for the sake of Shanti, has won him renown: the right to wearing a precious necklace, an expensive gift bestowed on him, ‘most illustrious master’ as decreed by Shanti herself.

All those who heard the incredible story of Parsifal’s victory over the snake were alike amazed and inspired.

Some even celebrated the squirrel’s deeds as their own. Thus his fame would spread like wild fire even unto the farthest corners of the wood.

Soon-after, countless copy-cats would follow suit, but their lack of originality and insincerity did not accrue them the same honor and distinction.

Of course, some followers, though mindful of the dangers in the woods, did commit themselves to emulating such remarkable deeds, courage and unswerving conviction.

Here and there, there were to be found some devoted disciples, sincerest friends of the Master, while others, especially the bonobos, baboons and chimpanzees were deemed mere proselytes, callow lay students never advancing beyond the mere novice or neophyte.

These latter species, unfortunately, have not won Mother Nature’s promised ascension to reaching the high realm of the free birds.
​
Nevertheless, some held themselves as advanced initiates, elders of wisdom, venerable sages, masters, wholeheartedly subscribed to the life-affirmative principles of the Squirel’s enchanting wanderings in the wood.

Among these indefatigable critters, staunch climbers of trees, are the chimpanzees, whose constant frolicking and infinite zest for all the operations of Mother Nature cannot be overstated.

Face-turning upon my aproximation —an acrobat par excellence— I made out an amusing brown-coated chimpanzee.

When he saw me, forthwith, he started climbing a gnarled tree.
​
The waggish monkey, ever-enjoying himself with all the liberty of heaven on earth, was ever-grinning at some flashy horizon to the north: the United State of America:

O Goodness! My mind thundered with terrific thoughts of curiosity at the sight of this lovely creature!

—What is there to be found across the ever-rolling streams of the blue ocean?

So I asked this fellow while slightly rising my pinions as a friendly gesture of solidarity, lightheartedness and contentment.

Smiling at me, the chimpanzee made some outlandish gestures of mutual feverish candor, patriotism, amicability: America the Beautiful!

In total agreement, I released a gentle chuckle of joy in disbelief, for I knew that a ‘universal commonality’ binds us all in the riddles of existence. ​

Chimpanzee: “Yes, I am your friend."

Phoenix Bird: “Making a most amusing grimace, the lovely creature then summoned me to near further unto him, and I, without hesitation, fear or distrust, dared budge one step into this curious animal of modern society and civilization!
​
As a fine gentleman, the creature drew his forefinger into his lipped-twisted mouth, and then, ceremoniously, placed his right hand in his bosom: Star-Spangled Banner!

"Love binds us all my friend."

Phoenix Bird: “Invested in such agreeable fine gestures of civility and humanity, I realized that this wonderful monkey was not a common citizen by any dint of the imagination.

After much solidarity, we both adjured our brief meeting with high-flown promises of loyalty and brotherhood in the quest of our true humanities.

Finally, the patriotic chimpanzee, fixing his eyes on me, dismissed me with these last memorable words:

‘My friend, be always truthful to your roots, your motherland,, and never speak disparagingly of your beloved brothers and sisters.’ ​

Continue Chapter IV:
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