Alephael and Belarael ran into each other in a celestial hallway. Belarael waved and was about to simply walk on, when Alephael took him by the sleeve.
“I just created a new fruit on Earth!” “Congratulations, Aleph! You certainly keep busy.” “I’m calling it cherry. I tasted it myself – it’s delicious, if I may say so.” “Well done, man!” “Humans will love it. Not to mention birds. And it’s quite healthy as well. Lots of vitamins.”
Belarael gave him a good long stare right in the face.
“Why are you looking at me like that, Bela?” “It won’t take me long to develop a pest for your cherries. You know that, I suppose.”
“Don’t worry, Aleph, old chap! Can’t make it too easy for those humans, can you? There’s got to be at least one thistle in every field. Says so in the manual.”
And gave Alephael a parting slap on the back as he went on merrily towards his lab.
Not much good recent news for Mother Earth, I’m afraid. In particular, she’s getting impregnated with shells, mines and dead bodies in Ukraine, and the rest is no better: deforestation, CO2, plastic all over, toxic waste. Thank God some people are planting trees somewhere … in a feeble attempt to counteract it all.
He did not have the impression of losing consciousness; but rather, before he came around again, he dreamed for a while, and the dream continued exactly where consciousness had stopped. Perhaps something had gone on in him between the cessation of consciousness and the beginning of the dream. But what happened there took place in a realm from which we, although we enter it now and then, are not able to bring back any knowledge – as little as from a former life or to a next one. There is no complete unconsciousness – when we become unconscious, we merely pass (as in death) from one realm into another, but these realms entertain no messengers, and only now and then – very seldom – do particles tear themselves loose from the other realm and, like driftwood from unknown continents, become stranded on the shores of our perception; or, like birds lost in flight, now and then departed souls and lost angels or gods descend on us.
I was walking toward the White Cliff in the late morning when I was overrun by hordes of lemmings. By sheer luck I was not run down. Once they were some distance ahead, the last ones – a hundred or so – turned around and rose up in what seemed like a choreographed move to laugh at me.