And Hashticharot Smiled: Conversations On Radical Liberty

AND HASHTICHAROT SMILED

Conversations on Radical Liberty

Michael Calpino

Copyright ©2017

J & M Publishing Co.

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be

reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion

of brief quotations in a review, without permission

in writing from the author or publisher.

Cover art by the Author

Hashticharot

True Man Rising

michaelcalpino.com

Other Books by the Author

Genesis, Zen and Quantum Physics

A New Look at the Theology and Science of Creation

An Inception of Piracy

(Historical Fiction)

Leave Me Alone

A Patriot’s Plan to Restore Pride and Prosperity to America

American Revolution

A Philosophical and Practical Guide

Authentic Christianity

Memoirs of a Former American

Israel, the Goyim and

the Eternal Destiny of Man

What Happened?

How Biblical Judaism Became Christianity

Art for the Revolution

Political Writings 2000-2010

Religious Writings

Every Guy's (and Gal's) Hiking Guide to Acadia National Park and Mt. Desert Island

PART ONE: FOUNDATIONS

I

John was slumped over the worn desk in his small office at the back of his shop, head in his hands.  John was a tailor, as had been his father before him and his father before him...he was actually a fifth generation tailor.  This particular shop had been in the family for four of them.  It was small but did quality work.  And while he could have expanded, grown large and become rich, he liked the way things were. He had a few ladies working for him and most nights he was home for dinner.  Even though he had gone to college like everyone was supposed to he found he actually liked the work he had grown up with.  So he put the parchment in a drawer and started working with his father full time.  The shop had passed to him twelve years ago when his father died suddenly from a heart attack.

Now he was wondering if the line would end with him.  He looked at the stack of mail before him with bleary eyes.  His name glared at him from behind all the plastic windows in the envelopes.  John Smith, from the insurance company.  John Smith, from the hospital.  John Smith, from the city inspector.  John Smith from Wagner and Dertram, Attorneys at Law.  John Smith, from the Internal Revenue Service.  Annoying, damnable distractions.  All he wanted to do was make clothes, good clothes, quality clothes. He made suits and dresses for special occasions, unique items, even costumes.  His customers loved him and his work, some of them had been coming to the shop for generations.  The shop had survived the depression, mass production from overseas, and the big chain store moving into the neighborhood.  Consistent quality and great customer service had always kept people coming through the door.

The customers, however, were the only ones who were happy.  It seemed everyone else wanted a piece of him.  In order to make ends meet, he had to work longer and longer hours, sacrificing his time with his family.  He had had to lay off one of his workers.  His insurance costs had gone through the roof.  A fender bender with someone who had been texting behind the wheel put him in the middle of a lawsuit.  The city code inspector was harassing him about the old building that had been in the family for over seventy years.  The IRS was hounding him about an alleged mistake on his return from five years ago.  On top of that his two teenagers were acting like, well, teenagers, and all this put a strain on his marriage.  John was frustrated, overwhelmed and very, very tired.

John slid the envelopes off to the side, he would deal with them tomorrow.  He opened his order book and started to go over the work for the next few days.  He tried to concentrate on the names and some of the notes in the columns.  He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes.  He was so tired.  He turned the page and looked blankly at the writing.  His eyes refused to focus.  ‘If I just rested for a few moments,’ he thought, ‘I’ll get back to it shortly.’  So he folded his arms on the desk and laid his head on his forearms......

John looked around.  Wind whipped through his curly black hair but the air was warm.  High mountains surrounded him, white and gray streaks falling from their peaks.  He himself was on the highest peak among them, his bare feet covered by ankle deep snow.   He looked down and found himself clothed in rags that flapped in the gusting wind.  He squinted against the swirling snow and observed a dark opening in the mountain.  As he watched, a figure appeared.

It was a woman, clothed in flowing red robes.  She was neither tall nor short, skinny or fat.  Her hair was long and dark, almost black.  The silky waves framed a stunningly beautiful face with  light olive skin, a straight nose that turned up slightly at the tip, and full red lips.  Her green eyes sparkled and as she approached John she smiled, revealing straight white teeth.  In a moment she was standing before him, placing both hands on the sides of his shoulders.  She looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and pity as one would a caged animal in a zoo.  The eyes bored into him as if she were searching the deepest recesses of his soul.

Hello John.  The voice was melodic, comforting, as if they were old friends reunited.  John opened his mouth but no sound would emerge.

The woman smiled.  I am Hashticharot,  she stated, reading John’s thoughts and answering his most obvious question.  I am the desire of the oppressed, the hope of the slave, the emancipator of the shackled, the passion of man’s deepest longing.   I am man’s purpose and his highest aspirations.  Hashticharot’s smile disappeared and she tilted her head, squinting her eyes slightly.  John couldn’t resist her gaze.  Are you lost John?

The question was unexpected.  He had expected ‘Do you know who I am?’ or ‘do you feel like a slave?’  He wasn’t sure about the first, he was positive about the second but as he thought about it, yes, he was lost.  So much seemed beyond his control, the walls were closing in and he saw no way out.  He knew something was wrong, really wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it.  He was flailing around in his life.  It was as if he were an animal in a cage with a hood over its head while people surrounding the cage prodded him with sharp sticks.  He knew this was not the way life should be but he wasn’t sure how he got here and he sure didn’t know how to get out.  He was lost.   Again he opened his mouth but no sound came out.  He simply dropped his head and nodded.

Hashticharot put her finger under John’s chin and lifted his head so their eyes met once again.

Good, she stated, her smile returning.  "One cannot fill a glass that is already full.  Come, sit, perhaps we can place you on the right path and make you a true man."

Hashticharot gestured to her right where two benches with white and gold pillows appeared.  John shuffled through the snow as Hashticharot gently guided him with a hand placed lightly on his shoulder.  True man?  Was he not a man already?  Where was this going?  But resisting Hashticharot’s guidance never even crossed his mind.  They sat opposite each other, Hashticharot crossing her legs and placing her hands lightly on her knee.

I know questions are swirling within your mind ready to spill out in a torrent.  You must calm your mind, take hold of your thoughts.  You hope I can lay out your path, tell you your purpose.  I cannot.  An individual man’s purpose is as unique as a snowflake.  So before we go on, I want you to close your eyes and breathe.

John closed his eyes and followed Hashticharot’s instructions and example.  In and out, slowly.....in and out.  John’s questions stopped clamoring for attention and receded to the deep corners of his consciousness.

That’s better, sighed Hashticharot.  Now we can begin.

John opened his eyes and met Hashticharot’s intoxicating gaze.

"Path and purpose are secondary.  They are unique to man and only man can contemplate such things.  Only a man can act upon his thoughts and set his foot on a path and fulfill his purpose.  A human being who allows others to set his path and define his purpose is not a man; he is merely a tool, a beast of burden. You are suffering John, not because of those without, but from within, from the limits you place on yourself.  You are allowing others to use you, to rip the flesh off your body a little at a time.  You know its wrong but you don’t know what to do about it and you don’t know what to do about it because you don’t know who you are, you don’t know how to be a man."

Again, John felt a twinge of resentment as Hashticharot again said he was not a man.  What was he?  Yet the words struck a chord.  He found himself leaning forward, anxiously awaiting the next words.

"John, only once we understand what a man is we can begin to make sense of plan and purpose.  To understand man we must go back to the beginning of every man.  Each human being created within his or her mother’s womb is, at the same time, a unique individual and part of the human community with which he shares common characteristics.  Each one is of equal value and unlimited potential.  No subjective value can be placed upon an individual life, no individual life is more or less worthy of esteem than another.  This is where it all begins.  While life itself forces us to assume values, life is the ultimate and overriding objective value.  Each and every individual has life and the continuation of that life is the fundamental right and imperative of every individual."  Hashticharot spoke all these words with quiet authority, as if such eternal truths should be obvious to all.

Each individual is a body and mind.  The body, like that of any animal, is the vehicle through which we interact with our environment.  Unlike animals, we have a mind, something far beyond the instinctual guidance offered by the animal brain.  This is crucial for our survival.  Look at your hands John.  You don’t have claws with which to defend yourself or hunt.  You have neither exceptional speed or strength, camouflage or poison. As simple animals we are toothless predators or easy prey.  Hashticharot smiled before she continued.

"The difference, the edge man has, is his mind; the creative and problem solving capacity he is created with that enables him to overcome his physical shortcomings and vulnerabilities and not only survive but adapt and thrive anywhere.  To do this a man’s mind directs his body to create tools or manipulate his environment so he can meet his basic needs.  An unencumbered mind and freedom of action are essential for exploring and implementing his survival options.  Limitations on either thought or action will compromise his ability to survive.  A man or woman alone will create those things which most efficiently meet their needs in a way that cultivates their happiness."

John pondered this for a moment.  He thought of how the creation of a beautiful article of clothing not only satisfied the customer but brought joy to him as well.  He and countless generations had refined the process and created the tools that today enabled him to produce clothing that met his needs and the needs of others.  And it made him happy, he enjoyed it.

"Very good John, you recognize the value of happiness.  Happiness is another unique fruit of the mind’s work.  It is the ability man has to contemplate and evaluate his environment or production and place subjective value on it.  He sees or experiences something and assesses its significance or worth to him as an individual.  He could see a waterfall and call it beautiful or eat something bitter and say it’s awful.  Objectively, no scenery or edible food is bad or good, beautiful or ugly.  But as unique individual human beings men have the capacity to appraise everything in their environment, consider it and act accordingly; not only to assure their survival but to effect their happiness."

John nodded, provision and happiness together.

"The mind is inventive, man seeks to provide for his needs as efficiently and effectively as possible.  This is something he can evaluate objectively, there are clearly better or worse ways of doing the same thing.  You know this John.  A machine will make a stitch faster and more efficiently than a hand stitch even though both accomplish the same thing.  But the mind also subjectively evaluates things, beautiful or ugly, satisfying or tedious, good or bad, and that is just as important to the individual.  Clothing a body can be done many ways but each individual decides what makes him or her happy.  The point is this.  Man’s method of provision will be unique to his mental and physical abilities and what he provides or produces for himself will be directed not only by need but by a conscious evaluation of what will bring about his greatest happiness."

Hashticharot took a deep breath and leaned in a little closer, her eyes burning with intent.  John found himself leaning in closer as well, eager to drink in more of her simple wisdom.

The individual’s survival is the fundamental imperative of every man.  The ability of a man to freely use his body and mind to secure what is necessary for his survival is a necessary and inseparable component of that moral imperative....

Something was ringing.  John slowly opened his eyes.  The phone...ringing.  Survival...happiness...efficiency...   He sat up and rubbed his eyes.  He saw....Hashticharot, that was her name, in his minds eye.  A dream, but unlike any dream he ever had.  It was vivid, clear, he could remember every word.  He could feel the pillows on the bench, the wind in his hair.  Man, body and mind, meeting his needs efficiently and seeking happiness.  Simple.  He picked up the phone.

John, are you there?  asked his wife, worried but a little annoyed as well.

Yeah..sorry..I fell asleep.  I’m leaving now.  John stood, wobbling a little.

OK, I was worried, I’ll warm something up for you.

John sighed.  He had hit the jackpot with this woman, she was so patient.  He knew their recent troubles had been wearing on her yet she was steadfast and loving, keeping the family functioning.

Thanks honey, I love you, see you soon.

She returned his love and he hung up.

He went back to the dream.  All that was well and good but he was not a man alone on an island.  He had to deal with vultures, parasites and imbeciles every day, none of whom cared about his happiness or survival.  Hashticharot had said plenty of good things, true things, things that were obvious once explained, but how it worked in the real world, he had no clue.  He grabbed his coat and headed out the door.  

II

After a meager dinner of heated up leftovers and another fight with his daughter, the origin of which was lost to him, John was ready for bed.  The earlier dream was still swirling in his head and questions flooded his mind.  Theory and philosophy are all well and good but he needed answers for real problems, he needed guidance in real situations. 

He lay down in bed next to his wife, kissed her and stared at the ceiling.  He thought about the stack of letters on his desk, the orders he needed to work on, what made him happy and how any past happiness had been swallowed up in worry and stress over the last few months....perhaps years.  So much of his misery seemed beyond his control.  He was not a man alone on an island, he had so much to deal with, so many people, leeches sucking the life out of him.  Yes, alone on an island.......

John stood on a beach, soft white sand stretching as far as he could see.  Turquoise water lapped quietly at