In search of the miraculous, meetings with remarkable people
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In search of the miraculous, meetings with remarkable people


In search of the miraculous
My quest along the path of personal meaning:
Beneath the veneer of Protestantism, I experience a deep undercurrent of Chinese and Javanese spirituality.
When my search began in the Netherlands, only New Age could be found on the bookshelves, and Taijiquan and Yoga in community centers; only later did I reconnect with broader developments, especially shamanism:

Meetings with remarkable people
Various encounters with people who inspire me:
In addition to the inspiring stories of my father, I have learned much from teachers of Taijiquan and from books/teachers within the Chinese tradition (Confucius, Mencius), as well as books/teachers in Western spirituality (Gurdjieff, Regardie, Starhawk).
As a bridge, I experience Modern shamanism (Harner) as an excellent “connector.”

At this stage of my life, I define myself as a spiritual humanist.

“Most precious are the people; next come the spirits of land and grain; and last, the kings.” (Mencius, 7B.14)

Main current sources of inspiration:
Mencius, with regard to shaping humanistic forms of society.
Modern shamanism, with regard to rituals.
Reclaiming, with regard to political action.

Ongoing activities:
A.I.
Art journal
Cartomancy
Qigong
Storytelling
Taijiquan

Completed activities:

Happy Stones
Malachim
Santa Muerte

 

The enemy within Gotham

The enemy within Gotham


The stone beneath City Hall burst apart.

From the darkness below came a roar like a thousand iron gates dragged across the earth. 

Dust poured from the ceiling. 

Men stumbled. 

Lamps went out one by one, and in that sudden darkness every faction drew steel.
“Hold!” cried Wayne.

But fear had already loosed the arrows.
A Scurlock guard struck a Triad captain across the face. 

The captain answered with a dagger-thrust. 

Three men fell before either lord could speak.

“Traitors!” shouted Scurlock.
His guards formed a shield wall.

Wang’s captains answered with curved blades, darting between the benches like wolves among sheep.

Steel rang against steel. 

One Scurlock man fell beneath a shower of short blades, while another seized a chair and broke it across a Triad soldier’s shoulders.

Lionel’s men stood apart for a heartbeat.
Then Lionel smiled grimly.
“If everyone is fighting,” he said, “we may as well choose a side.”
His guards charged.
The council chamber became a battlefield.
Scurlock’s men fought in tight ranks, their shields locked together. 

Wang’s warriors moved like water, striking from gaps and retreating before the counterstroke. 

Lionel’s mobsters attacked both sides, hoping to break the balance and seize City Hall for themselves.

Wayne drew his sword.
He met the first attacker at the foot of the council table.

Their blades crossed once, twice, three times.
Wayne turned the fourth stroke aside and struck the man’s wrist, sending his sword spinning across the floor.
“Enough!” Wayne thundered.
No one heard him.

Then the floor split.
A black claw rose through the broken stone.
Every warrior froze.
It was larger than a carriage wheel, plated in ancient metal, its fingers ending in hooked talons.
Steam hissed from the joints.
Behind it came another claw.
Then another.

Grandmother Bright raised her staff.
“The Dragonheart does not serve Gotham,” she whispered.
The creature below roared.
“It rules it.”

For the first time that morning, the factions lowered their weapons.
Outside, bells began ringing throughout the city.
From the South Quarter came the sound of marching feet.
From the markets came horns.
And beneath Gotham, the Dragonheart awakened fully.

Ping:

The sound of War
Gotham sound of War

Gotham sound of War


Before the great houses had learned to call themselves allies, Grandmother Bright heard the ominous sound:

Three turns.
A pause.
Three turns.

She rose before dawn and went to City Hall.

There she found Lord Wayne already awake, standing over a map of Gotham. Red markers surrounded the South Quarter. Blue marked the markets. Black marked the tunnels.

“You heard it,” Bright said.

Wayne did not turn.
“I heard something.”

“No,” she replied. “You heard war approaching.”

Before Wayne could answer, the doors opened.
Lord Scurlock entered with twelve guards.
Behind him came Wang, surrounded by Triad captains.
Lionel arrived last.
For the first time, every faction had brought armed men into the council chamber.

Scurlock placed a ledger upon the table.
“Three hundred workers have disappeared.”

Wang’s eyes narrowed. “And you accuse me?”

“I accuse everyone.”

Lionel laughed bitterly. “At last, something honest.”

Wayne struck the table.
“Enough.”

But no one listened.

Wang accused Scurlock of preparing a coup. 
Scurlock accused Wang of arming the workers. 
Lionel declared that Wayne had secretly ordered soldiers into the South Quarter.

Then a messenger burst through the doors.
“Milord!”

Everyone turned.
“The South Quarter is burning.”

Silence followed.

Wayne reached for his sword.
Wang’s hand went to his dagger.
Lionel’s guards raised their weapons.
Scurlock stepped backward.

And for one terrible moment, Gotham stood upon the edge of civil war.

Then the ground beneath City Hall moved.
Stone cracked.
The chandeliers swung wildly.

From below came three enormous turns of gears.
Everyone froze.
Three.
A pause.
Three.

Grandmother Bright closed her eyes.
“The Dragonheart has awakened.”

Beneath them, something vast began climbing toward the surface.
And the council, divided against itself, suddenly understood the cruelest truth:
They had spent so long preparing to fight one another that none of them had prepared to fight what was coming.

ping:

Gotham Patchwork Council
Gotham Patchwork Council

Gotham Patchwork Council


The council held together for exactly as long as Gotham remained in ruins.

Lord Wayne brought order to the meetings.
Lord Scurlock brought ledgers, contracts, and an unsettling knowledge of where every surviving coin had gone.
Triad Elder Wang kept the markets moving when no one else could.
Godfather Lionel made certain that food reached the districts that had once belonged to his enemies.
Grandmother Bright listened to everyone, spoke little, and somehow knew which promises would be broken before they were made.
Together, they were almost a government.

Then City Hall reopened.
The first argument concerned taxes.
The second concerned who had the authority to collect them.

By the third, Lord Wayne and Lord Scurlock were no longer speaking directly to one another.

Wang accused the nobles of rebuilding Gotham for themselves.
Lionel accused Wang of using the shortages to strengthen the Triad.
Scurlock produced figures proving that everyone was stealing from everyone else.
Grandmother Bright merely sighed.

Outside, the citizens watched.
They had fought a tyrant and discovered that tyranny was not the only thing that could make a city miserable.
The council’s greatest weakness was also its greatest strength: none of its members trusted the others enough to surrender power.

And so they watched one another.
Wayne watched Scurlock.
Scurlock watched Wang.
Wang watched Lionel.
Lionel watched Wayne.
Grandmother Bright watched them all.

For a time, this was enough.

Gotham recovered.
The bridges reopened.
Workshops filled with smoke.
The hospitals gained roofs.
Children returned to schools where teachers had begun replacing portraits of Highlord Macdonald with maps of the new republic.

Yet beneath the streets, something was changing.
Workers repairing a sewer beneath the old South Quarter discovered that their tools were vibrating.

Then came the sound.
Three slow turns of enormous gears.
A pause.
Three more.
The foreman ordered the men out.

That night, beneath Gotham, the Dragonheart and Clockwork body moved.

And somewhere inside City Hall, Grandmother Bright suddenly woke from sleep.
She had heard the same rhythm before.


Ping:

Even death may die in Mythago World
Even death may die in Mythago World

Even death may die in Mythago World


Beneath Gotham, something moved.
At first it was mistaken for settling stone: a faint grinding, a tremor beneath the broken foundations.
Then came a sound no human throat could have produced—a wet metallic groan rising from somewhere below the oldest streets.
The remnants of the dragon had not died.
Its enormous body lay crushed beneath the Clockwork Golem, but the creature’s blackened heart still pulsed.
Each beat sent a dull crimson light through the cracks in its scales.
Worse still, the Golem’s broken mechanisms had begun turning again, driven by that alien rhythm.
Dragon and machine were becoming one.

Engineer Leonardo understood before anyone else.
“We must bury them deeper.”

But Lady Blackbird shook her head.
“You cannot bury something that wants to dig upward.”

Meanwhile, the revolution had reached its decisive hour.
Macdonald’s mercenaries, exhausted and surrounded, abandoned their barricades.
The citizens poured into the streets.
Yet victory proved less glorious than the revolutionaries had imagined.
There was no perfect republic waiting beneath the rubble, only arguments, hunger, fear, and men suddenly discovering that power was easier to destroy than to govern.

For several bitter weeks, Gotham existed without a master.
Then the rebuilding began.
Not with towers.
With sewers.
With bridges.
With hospitals and kitchens and workshops.

Stone by stone, the citizens reclaimed their city.
The South Tower remained a jagged monument.
The North Tower was left untouched, because every mason who approached it reported hearing gears turning beneath the earth.
Gotham rebuilt itself, though never completely.
New streets crossed the old foundations.
New towers rose where ancient blood had soaked the soil.
Children played in markets whose stones still bore the scars of dragon fire.
And beneath them all, far below the city, two hearts continued their impossible rhythm.
One organic.
One mechanical.
Together.
Waiting.

Gotham had survived.
But something beneath Gotham had survived with it.


ping:

Magick against Machines
Gotham Magick against Machines

Gotham Magick against Machines


The Owl lifted into the battle smoke.
Dragon against Clockwork Golem.
Teeth against gears. Magick against machinery.
The sky had become a malfunctioning engine.

Lady Blackbird stood on the deck.
“Nearest wormhole, Captain Avery. Now.”

Avery pulled the levers.
Space buckled.
The stars became white scratches on black glass.
JUMP to Gotham.

They arrived scattered like bad thoughts.
Each went to his preferred corner of the city.

Meanwhile Gotham was coming apart.
Highlord Macdonald organized wrestling games while the streets burned with civil unrest.
Mercenary guards fired into resurgent mobs.
The city answered with broken windows, clubs, knives, slogans.

Above it all the Guardian Angels watched.

Then the Behemoth appeared.
A shape against the horizon.
Too large to be a shape.
“Sound the alarm. Prepare the defence.”

South Tower.
Four sent to watch the approach.
Jeffrey the Sharpshooter.
Julien the Medic.
Morgan the Rogue.
Peter the Messenger.

Julien closed his eyes.
He listened with the part of the mind that listens beneath language.
‘Something evil this way comes’.
Then:
“A huge dragon.”

Peter launched the glider.
From above, Gotham was a warzone.
Rebels still rioting against mercenary troops.
Vigilante martial artists converging on South Tower.
Everyone moving.
Nobody knowing where the exits were.

Peter returned with the report.
Then North Tower.

Engineer Leonardo was waiting among wires, brass instruments and improbable machines.
“According to legend,” Leonardo said, “the dragon has a weak spot. Hollow of the throat.”
“We have an experimental flamethrower.”
“You might try it.”

The Guardian Angels received a signal.
HELP.
Then another signal came screaming through the apparatus.
‘North Tower.
A huge Clockwork Golem is approaching the city.’

Two monsters.
One city.

Morgan went scavenging.
Alchemical powder.
Black residue.
Things that should not be mixed.
He built an experimental grenade.

The dragon came closer.
Closer.
Throw.
The grenade met the dragon breath.
FLASH.
BOOM.
“DUCK!”

Jeffrey did not duck quickly enough.
He became toast.

Julien was already moving.
Bandages.
Salve.
Medical intervention in the middle of the apocalypse.

Peter raised the flamethrower.
Click.
Nothing.
Then:
BOOM.
Peter joined Jeffrey in the emergency ward.
Julien sighed and went to work.

Morgan had better luck with the darts.
One flew.
Direct hit.
The dragon’s eye erupted.
“Yeah.”

Meanwhile Rudolf arrived.
Jeffrey’s twin.
He carried a meteor hammer.
The weapon spun through the air, chain hissing, and wrapped itself around the dragon’s neck.
Pull.
The dragon pulled harder.
Rudolf left the ground.
For one second he was airborne, attached to a dragon.
Then he let go.
Iron bullets.
Fire.
One found the weak spot.
The dragon screamed.

A blind dragon is a city-wide problem.
It turned south.
Then north.
“The good news,” someone said, “is that it is leaving the South Tower.”
Pause.
“The bad news is that it is rampaging through the town center.”

North Tower.
The wounded dragon charged.
BANG.
The tower shook.
Again.
BANG.

The dragon collapsed against the structure.
For one impossible moment it seemed the city had survived.
It had not.

Morgan took Peter’s glider.
Up.
Over the streets.
Onto the Golem.
Metal hands reaching.
Clockwork heart turning.
Cogs within cogs within cogs.
Morgan found a panel.
Opened it.
Inside was a mechanical nightmare.
Whirr.
Click.
Grind.
He inserted his knife.
The machinery stopped.
The Golem stopped.

Then the North Tower gave way.
The dragon’s weight had become too much.
Stone cracked.
Iron screamed.
The tower folded into the street.
And the Clockwork Golem came down with it.
The Golem collapsed onto the dragon.
Dragon beneath Golem.
Golem beneath rubble.

Rubble all over Gotham.
South to North, the city wore the scars of the battle like fresh wounds.
Smoke.
Broken towers.
Burned streets.
Twisted metal.
Silence.

The heroes gathered among the wreckage.
The worst scenario had been averted.
This was considered a victory.
In Gotham, you learn to celebrate the disasters that did not happen.


Ping

A Skyship’s Desperate Rescue Mission
Skyship Rescue Mission

Skyship Rescue Mission


Ornate owl-shaped flying ship with sails soaring among steep cliffs at sunrise

“Run!”
There are moments in life when courage is indistinguishable from good sense, and this was one of them.
Our heroes ran.
Across the shattered hall, beneath falling stones, between statues that had survived three centuries only to perish in three seconds.
“Where?” cried Engineer Leonardo.

“Up!”

“Up where?”

Lady Blackbird pointed.
Above the palace, through a vast aperture torn in the roof, skyship the Owl

She hung above like a black-winged bird, her great propellers turning furiously, her brass hull shining through the smoke.
Unfortunately, she was fifty feet above the roof.

“Excellent plan,” Leonardo said. “How do we reach it?”

A tremendous crash interrupted us.
The golem had thrown the dragon through a wall.
The wall came down.
Captain Avery was already at the mooring platform.
“Get aboard!”

“How?”
He grinned.
“By trusting a rope and regretting it afterward.”

A cable descended.

Below, the palace erupted.
Windows burst outward.
Towers leaned drunkenly.

The dragon emerged through a cloud of masonry, wings blazing, while the clockwork golem followed with the relentless dignity of a man who had never learned that buildings were supposed to remain standing.

“Cut the lines!” shouted Avery.
The crew obeyed.
The Owl lurched upward.

Then the dragon roared.
It spread its wings.
The golem seized one of its legs.
Together they fell through the palace roof.
A column of fire rose into the heavens.
Leonardo stared downward.
“Do you think they are dead?”

“No,” said Avery

“Why not?”

“Because,” he replied, looking toward the burning palace, “nothing in this cursed kingdom ever dies when it ought to.”
And beneath us, something enormous moved in the flames.

ping:

Clockwork against magick
Clockwork against magick

Clockwork against magick


The palace shook.
Dust poured from the ceiling.
Then came a sound like a thousand iron teeth grinding together.
The floor split open.
Something enormous climbed out.
It was a man.
Or had once been one.
Bronze plates covered its body.
Pistons hammered beneath its chest.
Its eyes burned with blue fire, and a great brass gear turned slowly behind its skull.
The clockwork golem raised one iron fist.
The dragon stared at it.
The golem stared back.

The golem punched the dragon.
The impact sounded like a cannon firing inside a cathedral.
The dragon flew backward through three pillars.
The dragon rose from the rubble.
Its brass helmet was bent.
Its pride was considerably more damaged.
It spread its wings.
Fire filled its throat.

“Everyone down!”

The dragon breathed.
Flame swept across the hall.

The golem did not move.
Its chest opened.
Inside was a spinning furnace.
The fire struck it.
The machine glowed red.
Then the golem laughed.
It was not a pleasant sound.
It seized the dragon by the throat.

The dragon clawed at its arms.
The golem lifted it from the floor.

The entire palace groaned.
Somewhere, a gear the size of a carriage began turning.

The palace shook.

The floor exploded.

Ping:

Cry havoc
Cry havoc Atlantis!

Cry havoc Atlantis!


The ceiling exploded.
Stone and dust thundered into the hall.
Something vast crashed through the roof.
It had claws.
It had wings.
It had far too many teeth.
And it was wearing what appeared to be a brass helmet.

The creature roared.
The windows shattered.

Scurlock drew his sword.
Unlike Blackbird’s elegant rapier, his weapon was a long, wicked blade, black as midnight and twice as unpleasant.

“Right,” said Avery. “Who attacks first?”

Lady Blackbird grinned.
“I do.”

She sprang onto the back of a fallen statue, ran up its shoulder, and launched herself at the creature.
Her sword flashed.
She struck one of its horns.
Sparks flew.
The creature bellowed and swatted her aside.
Avery caught her.

Scurlock leapt onto the creature’s claw.
He drove his sword between two scales.
The beast shrieked and shook its limb violently.
Scurlock held on with one hand.

“Guardian!”

“Yes?”

“The lever!”

The Guardian went pale.
“Which one?”

“All of them!”

“That seems unsafe!”

“Precisely!”

The Guardian hurled himself toward the machinery.
Leonardo followed.
“Wait for me!”

“You’re an engineer!”

“Exactly! I understand levers!”

Behind them, Lady Blackbird and Avery attacked together.
Steel rang against brass.
The creature snapped at Avery.
He ducked.

Blackbird thrust.
The blade vanished between its teeth.
She stared.
“Oh.”

Avery grabbed her by the collar.
“Run!”

They fled as the beast bit down.
The sword snapped.

Blackbird looked at the broken hilt in disbelief.
“My sword!”

The Guardian pulled three levers.
Somewhere beneath the palace, a machine awakened.

ping:

The enemy of my enemy
The enemy of my enemy

The enemy of my enemy


Lady Blackbird drew her sword and advanced to attack her advesary.
“En garde, Lord Scurlock!”

Lord Scurlock sighed.
It was the kind of sigh a man makes when the evening has gone badly and somebody has just spilled gin on the carpet.
He rose from the throne.
He was tall, thin, and dressed in a black coat that looked as though it had been tailored by a funeral director with a grudge.
A silver chain hung from his waist.
At the end of it was a watch.
The watch was ticking backward.

“Must we?” Scurlock asked.

Lady Blackbird lunged.
Scurlock stepped aside.

She struck the throne.
The throne screamed.

Lady Blackbird spun and attacked again.
Scurlock parried with one finger.
The blade stopped an inch from his chest.
“Good sword,” he said.

“Good finger,” she replied.

He smiled.
Then he flicked her sword across the hall.

It landed beside Captain Avery.

Avery picked it up.
“I dislike him,” he said.

“You’re not alone,” said the Guardian.
The Guardian was hiding behind engineer Leonardo.

Scurlock looked at him.
The room became colder.
“You,” he said.

The Guardian swallowed.

“Me?”

“You pulled the lever.”

“That was her.”

Scurlock walked toward them.
Behind him, the golden throne folded itself into the shape of a chair.

“Lord Scurlock,” said Avery, raising the sword, “what exactly are you planning?”

Scurlock stopped.
Through the enormous windows came the sound of something moving across the sky.
Not flying.
Dragging itself.

Scurlock glanced upward.
“For once,” he said, “I’m not planning anything.”

The marble floor trembled.

“Then what is that?”

Scurlock looked at them.
“That,” he said, “is the reason I built the door.”

Avery frowned.
“The door exploded.”

“Yes.”

“Was that part of the plan?”

Scurlock considered this.
“No.”

The ceiling cracked.
Something enormous looked down through it.

Scurlock smiled without humor.
“Now,” he said, “we may all attack together.”

ping:

Behind the magick portal
Behind the Atlantis portal

Behind the Atlantis portal


The thing behind the door cleared its throat.

Captain Avery drew his sword.

Engineer Leonardo drew a ruler.

Lady Blackbird drew the brass lever.

“Who,” asked Avery, “is behind the door?”

The door exploded.

The bronze beacon screamed.

“Oh,” said the Guardian.

Everyone looked at him.

“That’s not supposed to happen.”

“What isn’t?” asked Lady Blackbird.

A shadow passed over the city.

Then another.

Then a third.

Engineer Leonardo looked upward.

Lady Blackbird looked at the brass lever.
“Now that,” she said, “looks useful.”

The Guardian lunged.“No!”
Too late.

She pulled it.

When sight returned, they were standing in a vast marble hall.

A golden throne stood before them.

Upon it sat a very strange man.

Avery stared.

Leonardo dropped his ruler.

The man on the throne raised an eyebrow.
“I suppose,” he said, “you’ve come to stop me.”
He smiled.

ping:

An Unexpected Encounter