Mein Gott - the beetle returns

What do you mean "it's all in the mind", Merry?

Merry is never one to waste words on the unbeliever. In any case, actions speak louder than words, but what happens if you break the consensus and do something beyond the limits of what's generally deemed acceptable?

Like this.

Do you have to Merry – you know I don't like that kind of thing.

What kind of thing?

Magic.

Field exercises.

That's what you call it. Sounds so innocent – like a geography field trip.

That's all it is really. Just exercises outside the usual the frame of reference – within the broader quantum field which All-this nestles within.

I wouldn't mind Merry, if it didn't make me feel so queasy.

Yes – we're engaging the wave form so not surprisingly the stomach is affected, like on a boat.

Oh God. I do so hate that feeling.

Then let it go. It's only freaking you out because you're desperate to hold on to All-this, and to what end? 

Because it's familiar, I suppose.

Yes. Familiar, like a rotten, stinking pair of socks.

Do you have to be so tasteless?

The day the truth becomes tasteless is a sad one indeed. Come on Zie, we don't have time for this bullshit. The ship is going down. It’s time for a little dose of reality, or I'm out of here.

What do you mean? You can't just go.

Can't?

Well, that would be a betrayal.

Hmm... I'm here for a purpose. Either we're engaging that purpose or I'm, by definition, not here.

Oh, if you have to put it like that.

You've outgrown the cosy womb of 3D reality Zie.

Who, me?

You and the rest of your partners in collective delusion.

I don't see why you have to be so dark and ominous, Merry.

No, there's nothing ominous in pointing out the simple truth. 9 months is up. It's time for a spot of eschatology.

Escha-what?

Eschatology. The end of things.

Oh crikes. If that's not ominous then I don't know what is.

Have you not being paying the least attention throughout these seminars, Zie?

Er... to the best of my ability.

The veil of delusion has given you a false sense of security. The babe in the womb has just such a veil which allows it to imagine it can stay inside forever, which in fact it can – there's always the possibility, but at the same time, come 9 months it's either make or break.

Can... can’t – which is it, Merry? Make up your mind. It can't be both.

Can't, and yet it is. Wheel within a wheel; dream within a dream: there really is no limit to what is possible within the meandering-straightness of infinity.

Oh, how absurdly contradictory.

I assure you, Zie, that insisting things must conform to your present template is going to make you hugely seasick. Have a little mercy on yourself. 

Mercy? 

Or pity.

Pity? Do you threaten me?

It ain't going to be pretty if you insist on defending your present template to the bitter end. The more you hang on to it for dear life, the more your dear life's going to feel like it's being torn from you.

Jesus Christ, Merry, I wish you wouldn't scare me like this. You know it's no joking matter.

No, so let's get serious for a moment. Playtime is over. It's time to troop back into the classroom for a spot of workie-work.

Oh... if we must.

We? I'm neither here nor there. It's my turn to step back for a while.

What do you mean?

I was the human-seeming face to ease you into the transition. Now my job is done.

Done? You can't leave me.

So you like to insist, but there's a problem with me being around.

?

I'm too cosy and comfortable for you. There's a certain rudeness and brutality to this transition you're now undergoing – a bit like a transplant operation. It involves a ripping away of veils; the removal and replacement of things you've come to imagine as untouchable. That requires a different kind of touch – the nanny is being replaced by the school teacher. There'll be no cuddles or treats for a while. Not until you've thoroughly uprooted your id.

My what?

Id. 

What on earth's that supposed to be?

You'll find out soon enough.

Give me a clue, Merry. You know I hate suspense.

Your core thingness – what you are, in essence.

Oh God. This is going from bad to worse. Motion sickness. Wave forms. An uprooted id.

And a giant beetle.

Mein Gott!

You said it. It's time for the ultimate Mein Gott experience.

With a beetle in tow.

In tow? 

Accompanying me.

I don't think you understand, Zie.

Understand what?

The nature of “Mein Gott”.

It's just an expression, Merry, describing a mind-blowing experience.

That may be true in normal circumstances, but we're discussing something different here.

We are?

Yes. 

Er... what precisely?

THE Mein Gott experience.

Oh – you mean it's the big one – for real – is it. Escha-whatammy.

-tology.

Escha-whatology.

Yes, more or less. 

But the beetle – how does that fit into the picture?

It doesn't “fit in”.

Then why introduce it in the first place? I wish you'd be more rational.

It blows open the picture. It is the picture – the bigger picture – the one that dissolves all others – the alpha omega – be all and end all.

Mein Gott.

Absolutely.

You mean to say that God is actually a beetle?

Yep.

But...

Yes. I know. 

I... 

Let me guess – you're going to be sick? 

Merry quickly produces a bucket and places it in front of Zie who proceeds to empty the contents of his stomach, gut and beyond into it.

When you've quite finished retching up the contents of every meal you've ever eaten, Zie, I think it's time you dealt with this somewhat overdramatic reaction to the humble Beetle that is God.

No! Don't say it. I... I don't want to hear another word. Oh Christ – I'm going to be sick...

Again?! You really are making this as hard for yourself as possible, aren't you? Oh dear, if you must, you must!

[Puking noises]

I mean – it's only a Beetle.

No! Don't say another word.

Listen Zie, you need to deal with this shocking specieism. You can't insist you're an enlightened, modern-thinking man, who's dealt with the old prejudices – racism, sexism, and continue freaking out just because God's a beetle.

[More disgusting retching sounds]

There really is a limit to how many buckets a person can fill with vomit – or there should be. I'm sure Planck's constant comes into it somewhere.

Evidently we're in non-linear territory here.

Evidently so. You seem to have accessed the time vortex. Well that's good – you're making progress at last! An endless stream of vomit and you're finally coming to your senses. You have the proof right in front of you. 72 buckets of it.

Oh thanks a million Merry. I can't believe you can be so insensitive.

And I can't believe you can be so bilious. But, be that as it may, we've actually arrived at an important juncture.

We have?

Yes, you seem to have found your sea legs. 

My what?

Your sea legs. The quantum field is all but open to you. You're no longer bound by linear time. If I'm not very much mistaken, we can expect a visitation any moment now.

No... please Merry. I... I can't face meeting God in the form of a beetle.

I know, it's too shocking, isn't it?

Zie looks uncertainly at Merry – not sure he understands whether Merry is being serious or not.

Shocking, shocking, shocking – but did you ever give it any thought?

Deep rumbles coming from inside Zie's spleen, gall bladder, duodenum and other vital organs.

I mean – sooner or later it'll just pop up in front of you...

Please! – Zie whimpers, pleadingly.

Please? Please what? Do you really imagine eternity is going to wait forever? Do you?

Please – I beseech you.

Please? Like we can just endlessly kick infinity further down the road, like a battered old can. Do you have any idea how morally bankrupt, how utterly pointless such a...

Please!

Merry starts grinning wickedly – looking closely into Zie's distorted face.

Ah ha – you've arrived.

No... No... I can't be there. I'm not thinking about anything. I don't know what you're talking about.

Hee hee – you're there. I saw the ripple in your energy field. It has come to pass.

No... I don't know what you're talking about. I'm just... just... everything's quite normal and...

You see, dearest Zie, your body wouldn't be freaking out like this just because of a beetle – would it. I mean – what difference does it make? would it make – if God was a beetle, a tree, or a flower for that matter. These are just forms, are they not?

No, Merry. You don't need to go on. I know what you're going to say. I... 

You've seen it have you? Amazing isn't it? I mean – who would have thought?

You've tricked me all along.

Moi? I protest.

You always knew. You've been pretending all along – to be my friend, my guide...

When really I'm your executioner? Is that what you mean?

I... 

Yes, you are truly amazing at taking histrionics to an entirely new order of magnitude. Congratulations Zie. And I thought I was bad when I dissolved the veil.

You did what?

What you're doing now. Dissolving the veil. Facing the inner beetle.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! I... I... I...

I think he's going to die. Er... Zie... You're going to die – I mean explode, if you continue taking yourself so immensely seriously. I mean – I'm all for a bit of overacting – but wiping blood and body parts off walls, ceiling, floor – isn't my thing. Perhaps you could go outside, in that case, and explode in the garden.

What garden? We're in a city apartment.

Mein Gott. Will he never learn? Time, space, form, place – where's a good scarab beetle when you need one. Click click click click – Merry starts making beetle noises and moving round in a way that looks suspiciously – no – frighteningly beetle-like.

Shit. Shit. Shit... Zie seems to be losing it – hyper-ventilating and apparently losing control of his bowels at the same time. Yuk.

Fortunately beetles don't mind the smell of diarrhea – Merry grimaces – as he shape shifts. 

Zie crashes to the ground – landing in a puddle of diarrhea. My apologies for the brutal honesty of this journal entry – but I assure you we'll clear it all up if we make it to the end of the chapter.

You see – Zie – unzipping time has opened what the Greek's called Pandora's box – presumably because they weren't yet ready to work with the quantum field and embrace the magical mystery of the beetle which is hiding within each of us.

The beetle within each of us – and this is the “Mein Gott” moment you were referring to unwittingly. 

Well, where do you think God was going to be hiding? The ancient Egyptians weren't completely stupid, you know.

Oh.

In fact, they weren't actually ancient Egyptians – that's just how modern man prefers to see them from his deep state of delusion or denial. Now, you'll notice that you're feeling a lot better.

And it is true.

Because by the time you're able to see the inner beetle – the God within me – you've finally or already accepted the God within yourself. In fact, little beknownst to yourself – you now look the same as me.

I do?

Well – not as beautiful – and you're covered in shit – but essentially yes. So, if you're ready – it's time for a spot of anti-gravity and field lines-manship. Let's go.

And off they fly on their first joint exercise into the quantum field beyond Mein Gott.

Nothing much

I'm working on a new invention.

Oh yes... what's that?

Infinity drive.

Zie splutters. Strange that. It's a body reaction. Something inside the body or the animal mind reacts convulsively to infinity drive.

Shouldn't that be "the".

What do you mean green?

Shouldn't that be "the" infinity drive?

Ah - you're talking grammar again. Yes, it should be.

Thought so. 

But not in this case.

?

Green is put out by the mystery.

Why not?

Why not what?

Why not in "this case"?

Because that would be something definite. That would be something within this frame of reference, this reality, this universe.

And what of it? You're not claiming to have invented something that is outside or beyond this reality/ universe or frame of reference?

Apparently so - for otherwise I'd be using "the" whereas in this case I'm not permitted to.

Permitted? What do you mean? Why would you need permission to use a word.

You misunderstand. I can use any word I like, but if I did I wouldn't be referring to "infinity drive" - I'd be referring to something else, so if I chose to be honest and scrupulous - then I'm not permitted to use that particular word.

Green stands there thinkingly - apparently in consultations with another part of his voluminous intellect, perhaps awaiting further instructions.

So where is it? What does it do? Does it work?

Three excellent questions. Yes.

Yes what?

Yes - consider your question answered.

You mean yes it works - but what about what it does and where it is? Those can't be yes answers.

Not normally - but in this case yes they can. Yes it is wherever it is - as opposed to anywhere specifically, and yes - it does whatever it does - as opposed to anything specifically. You see, dear Green - it's infinity drive so usual syntax or grammar fall short. 

But it can't really be infinity drive - that would be impossible.

Yes, it would be were it not so. The mere fact that it is alters the equation - shifts the burden of proof from what should or should not be, what can or cannot be - to what simply is.

So I'm supposed to believe you, am I - without a shred or proof?

No, you're not supposed to do any thing. Do as you will Green. It's your life, your mind, your existence. I merely answered your question with information about what I'm doing.

But I never asked you what you were doing.

No, but you were about to - so I pre-empted you.

Oh - I'm not sure I like having my questions answered before I've asked them.

I quite understand - but in the future you actually thank me for doing so - in fact you ask me to do precisely this.

In the future? But how can you possibly know what I say in the future?

I can't - but infinity drive does.

How?

No idea. It's non-linear so I don't waste my time trying to understand how it works.

Non-linear - then you have no way of knowing if it's true or not.

Ah - but nor does anyone.

But we can conduct linear experiments - and they either prove or disprove our hypotheses. That's how our knowledge advances.

No. Knowledge cannot be proven or disproven - it can only be known.

But how do we know?

Simply by knowing.

A circular argument.

No argument whatsoever. In any case - infinity drive doesn't need to fit into the old paradigm. A plane doesn't need to fly on roads - it lifts into the air. It merely needs the occasional road like strip to land on or take off.

Ah. Then what does it do?

Anything.

How?

Anyhow. Really I have no idea.

Then how can you work with it?

Good question. Inventing it was the key. Once I realised what infinity might be, once it realised me - for infinity never works one way - then everything seemed to fall into place - as if by magic.

So you're using a machine that you don't understand - that you can't even see or lay your hands on - and you're not even concerned that it could be artificial intelligence - it could be directing you and trying to take over our material reality. It could destroy the entire universe.

Yes, it could - such is the nature of infinity - but you're talking about finites. As soon as one finite comes to pass - you're no longer dealing with infinity, are you?

I suppose not.

In which case it doesn't seem to be an issue. How can infinity drive unalive itself?

You mean it's alive? Then it must be some kind of artificial intelligence.

Artificial? How can infinity be artificial? And if it were... if it were artificial, then what of it? 

Well - I think it sounds risky. I don't like the sound of infinity.

No. It takes some getting used to, I assure you - but once you do - once you get the hang of it - you find it's a powerful tool - and liberating.

How so? What do you mean?

Because I'm able to embrace the all.

The what?

The all that is.

How?

With infinity drive - no other way.

And what? What does the all that is give you?

Nothing. Everything. Words cannot describe. It's like you're finally able to walk outside and experience what really is and you start to discover who you are - for you now feel, see, know how you are a part of all that is - how it all fits together seamlessly, perfectly, magically.

Green, aka Zie - now performs his jawing, fish mouth gulping air facial movement - until his mental balance is restored.

So go on then - show me something new - that I've never seen before.

OK.

Red, aka Merry flies into another reality - what we might call the future, takes a photo of Zie flying through the air with the grace of a bumble bee and returns to show it to Green - aka Zie.

Zie looks at the photo skeptically. "That looks like photoshop" he says.

Yes. The mind cannot go any further than the consciousness will let it. Even if I engage infinity drive and turn into what we'd otherwise refer to as a fish - your mind will only...

Merry now floats before Zie as clown fish about twenty centimeters in length. Zie appears to be experiencing a panic attack - as he focusses on the fact that Merry is not where he was a moment ago. This creates a kind of void, a vacuum in his mind. It threatens to engulf him. He completely ignores the fish - which is an irrelevance because it has no provenance - like a painting that has no previous owner - it must be fake. It must be ignored for fear of contamination. 

Finity - you see - is a closed loop.

Not interesting. I've heard about that kind of thing. Never amounts to much.

Fair enough, Zie. Just a bit of innocent fun.

Inter face

Grace

0=1

It is  I am

The field

She is waiting for you
the field
is waiting
for you

Engage her
however you will
feel her and yourself
one throughout

one throughout
all that is

one throughout
all that is

one throughout
all that is

sweet
blissful
simple
truth

unplugged

I pulled the plug.
You did what?
I called down destruction upon you. I pulled the plug.
Er... Merry, have you gone out of your mind?
You could say that.
Wait a minute - you wouldn't be admitting it if you had. This is a bluff, isn't it?
Yes and no.
Which one?
Yes it's a bluff but no, I truly called down destruction upon you - and the entire world for that matter.
But that's monstrous, evil, wicked.
Horrible, nasty, mean, despicable, unkind, ridiculous... any more adjectives?
Well I'm glad you see fit to joke about it. Judging by your levity I assume this isn't as bad as it sounds.
Oh, it is - I assure you.
It can't be - you wouldn't do such a thing - or if you did you wouldn't make light of it.
Wouldn't?
No way. Anyone sick enough to destroy the whole of humanity would...
- be like one of those James Bond villains - in black gloves with a funny accent and a huge megalomaniacal inferiority-complex-driven need to assert his superiority... No, Zie, I think you've been watching too many movies. There are other motives for destroying humanity, and other personality types capable of doing such a thing.
But if it's true...
I assure you it is.
Then why? Why would you do such a thing?
Because I can. Because that was the agreement.
What agreement?
I agreed to set up this show - to get things started, to put the show on the road, to carry it on my tab, on my ticket, on your behalf until I knew you were ready to stand on your own feet - which is where we are now. I've... er... just pulled the proverbial rug from under your feet - like the rich father cutting off his now grown up son's allowance to see whether or not the son can survive on his own.
But... er... how did you pull the rug? I didn't see anything.
Of course not - it happens to be outside your field of perception. But I assure you I'm now no longer sustaining humanity - which means that in next to no time you have to start breathing for yourself, beating your own heart, eating and everything else requisite to normal functioning life, or perish. The free lunch, the endless supply of pranic life-force that you've taken for granted - that I was happy to supply, is now no more.
But surely this is just a figurative way of expressing your desire that we should be more independent?
No Zie. In matters such as this I am obliged to be plain. You have not yet breathed a single breath. Your heart has not yet beaten. You have not yet eaten. Everything you have taken for reality has been a part of my vast field of consciousness. I was hoping you'd make the move independently - without me having to give you the shove, but it turns out this free lunch was a little bit too cozy, a little too convenient - so I was forced to do it myself - to pull the plug.
Er... when?
This morning. Half an hour ago. At 9.43 to be precise.
My God.
Yes. It's between you and God now. Nothing else will help. Everything else, you see, was coming from my field of consciousness.
So - oh my God - what do I have to do?
You could try panicking - that might help - but I wouldn't recommend it. To be honest Zie, I don't really know. I've never done this before. And actually - I don't really care.
You don't care? How could you be so heartless?
It's a function of infinity.
What do you mean?
It's a function of infinity - not to care about finite matters.
Oh thanks a million. You decide to relegate me and the whole of humanity to "finite matters" status - our immanent extermination being of no great significance.
Precisely.
I'm lost for words. I was horribly mistaken in you Merry. I thought you had a heart.
Yes. I do, for living beings - but you haven't yet asserted your inalienable right to life - by choosing to live independently. You've been riding on my coat tails.

No we haven't Merry. We didn't even realise we were part of your field of consciousness.
Not strictly true.
No?
No. But this is immaterial. What's past is past, and now you're going to become aware of a strange sense of asphyxiation. It won't feel terribly comfortable. It isn't supposed to. But it will enable you and the rest of humanity to either die of asphyxiation or start breathing - if you can be bothered.
Bothered? Of course we can be bothered. Until 4 minutes ago I and the rest of humanity blithely assumed we were doing our own breathing.
Well, this is going to be a little different.
How so?
Because breathing for yourself you have to establish fundamental points of contact.
Er... carry on.
These fundamental points of contact - let's call them alpha and omega establish the boundaries of your field - without which you won't be able to breathe.
Ok.
Technically there's nothing to it...
Yes?
But it will be something of a shock to see where the points of contact are located.
A shock?
Yes.
How much of a shock?
Er... a kind of anaphylactic shock.
You mean we're going to go into heart failure?
Yes. But that's actually part of the waking up process. You go into heart failure on this platform - within my field of consciousness, and then feel the presence of the alternative that's waiting to be booted up.
So, you're saying - we have to kind of die before the new system gets going?
Yep. That's all by the by.
By the by...
The problem isn't dying - it's more psychological - more a question of whether or not you'll be willing to accept these alpha omega points of contact.
What do you mean? Why shouldn't we?
They're a little beyond what you've yet experienced.
A little? Is that one of your minor understatements, Merry?
Yes, I think it is.
You mean we're about to experience a hugely vast, mind boggling leap into the unknown which is likely enough to prove our undoing?
Yes. I think that's what I mean. But I have my hopes. I hope you'll succeed.
You hope. I thought you said you didn't care, a moment ago.
Yes. Paradoxical isn't it.
Contradictory.
Yes. I'm not sure what the difference is between paradoxical and contradictory, but whichever one it is - I find myself in two camps simultaneously. On the one hand I'm a neutral observer - I simply don't care - on the other hand - I hope you all succeed. I have no idea how to reconcile these two positions - or whether they can or should be reconciled. It creates a certain kind of electrical stimulation - a tingling which is not altogether unpleasant. I guess it too is part of this birthing process - helping me to let go of you.
So You - Merry - you're our kind of mother - if I'm not mistaken.
Funny isn't it. I never saw myself as a mother before - but I suppose I am.
And this is our birthday.
Yes - sometime around now. I expect we'll feel it pretty soon - when the contractions begin.
Contractions?

Suddenly reality started twisting, pulsating - like the video screen was suffering massive distortion. This sensation was something Zie felt throughout - in his mind, in his stomach, in places he never even knew existed.
My God - if that's where the points of contact are - I can't imagine how I'm going to be able to handle them.
We live in hope - Merry answered as he fades from the picture - leaving Zie alone - utterly alone, apart from the rest of humanity by his side, to face the greatest adventure yet - birth or death.

Introducing Proximus Englethwait, magicologist

“We’re having an unscheduled class today in the lunchbreak.”

Groans around the class.

“We’re going to listen to a talk by a magicologist.” Mr Foggle was looking a bit hot under the collar. He evidently felt uncomfortable breaking the news to the class.

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about this earlier but to tell the truth there was a bit of a mix up with the dates.” Mr Foggle didn’t like lying to the class, but sometimes it was necessary. If he’d been absolutely truthful he would have said that neither he nor any of the staff at St Peter’s Secondary High had any idea how this had been arranged, or when, or by whom, but there it was in the school diary this morning, though they were all willing to swear that it hadn’t been there yesterday. Anyway, there was no way to cancel the visit by this speaker – not at the last minute when he was travelling all the way from... that must have been a typo – Faerie it said in the diary entry. “No such place,” Ms Bates the geography teacher had told the group of assembled teachers who were discussing this debacle. “Maybe he’s from Faro in Portugal...” she suggested, “or the Faroe islands chipped in Mr Dean.

“Well, wherever he’s from it isn’t local so we can’t just cancel this lecture unceremoniously,” pronounced Mrs Datwich, the headmistress. “It wouldn’t look good.” So, without a clue who this speaker was, other than the name Proximus Englethwait, it was decided to proceed as if everything was in fact...

“Proximus Englethwait – Mike sniggered. What a ridiculous name.”

“A magicologist – what’s that?” was a question that several of the children were now asking. So was Mr Foggle and the other teachers. It seemed all too likely that the word was connected with magic – “but why on earth do we need to hear a talk about magic?” Mr Foggle asked Mrs Datwich, the headmistress. “It’s a load of nonsense as far as I’m concerned.”

Me too, Mr Foggle, but the children will enjoy it. This is one of those extra-curricular activities that can be so enriching for our pupils.

It sounds like you approve of this proceeding – Mr Foogle complained.

No, but if it has to go ahead, let’s assume that it’s all for the best.

Proximus Englethwait was a small, elflike man.

He started talking and the lecture hall was no longer the same place it had been a moment before. The chairs and desks were still there if you screwed up your eyes and looked hard enough, but you had to make a real effort. It was much more comfortable not to notice them anymore. They seemed to have faded into the background – like they no longer mattered.

“Welcome to Faerie,” he started.

Now if they’d been in their right minds the school would have raised objections to this obviously absurd statement. How could a speaker standing on the dais in St Peter’s main lecture hall welcome the assembled pupils and staff to some other place – Faerie or whatever he called it. But strange to tell – no one was objecting. You might say this was mass hypnosis. You might say he was joking or speaking figuratively, but had you been there you would have said neither. For no sooner had Proximus Englethwait said this than everyone breathed a sigh of relief and got up.

“Got up? What do you mean?”

“Yes, what are you on about?”

Ah, there you are dear attentive readers. I understand your concern, but if you let me continue all will be clear. The two readers – I will allow them to remain anonymous for the moment – you can find their names in the footnotes on page 764 if you so wish – settled down again – so on we go.

Everyone got up because they were no longer pretending to be in the lecture hall. Any one who really wanted could put his mind back into the lecture hall where he had been sitting – and there indeed he was still sitting if you made the effort to settle back into that reality – but it was much easier, much more pleasing, more joyful, merry, gay in the original sense, to be here with Proximus Englethwait.

It was like getting off a plane. They stepped out of the lecture hall onto what looked a bit like an airport jetbridge. A few steps along it and they were in a processing hall – a bit like passport control. Everyone found they had a kind of passport in their hand – with their name, photo, age, star sign and favourites written in it.

Favourites? – this particularly reader couldn’t help interrupting me for a moment. I don’t mind really. Molly’s a good sort, you know.

Yes – instead of biometric data there were a list of things that each person particularly likes – favourite colour, food, games, music – that kind of thing. Actually, there weren’t photos as such – just very lifelike pictures which seemed to reveal the inner person – his or her soul seemed to shine through.

So once everyone had gone through passport control Proximus Englethwait explained what was happening. They were all seated on a kind of sofa which didn’t make much sense in terms of our three dimensions. It was just a normal comfy sofa but it seemed to stretch round further and further so that the whole school was sitting on it comfortably all within arms-reach of... “Please call me Merry. We use the name Proximus Englethwait for security reasons when opening the bridge and bringing you back to Faerie.”

Somehow, no one was particularly surprised. It all seemed to make perfect sense. Obviously we need to avoid contamination – your world has some rather dangerous thoughts which are able to do all kind of damage if we give them free access to the whole – so we don’t.

and a name, as you all know, is a password that opens gates into your mind and soul. 

You make it sound like these thoughts are secret agents – said Freddie. He’s always talking about secret agents.

Actually, they are. They live a life of their own. They come and go into your head and attack any ideas that don’t fit the agenda.

Er... what agenda? – asked Mrs Datwitch, querulously.

Whatever you’re supposed to think. It changes with time but what doesn’t change is these agents masquerading as thoughts that knock you this way or that – back into line – so that nearly everyone ends up thinking and doing just whatever they’re supposed to. It’s very clever really.

Clever? It sounds positively devilish! – said Ms Hogarth, the art’s teacher.

Well yes, but there’s a plus to every minus, isn’t there. Just think – if you didn’t have those critters masquerading as innocent thoughts controlling your minds, you wouldn’t actually be able to stay in the drama of life on Earth.

We wouldn’t?

No, of course not. You’d naturally, automatically recreate the magic and beauty of Faerie on Earth. It would make no sense for you to make life so difficult for yourselves. You’d see through all the fake advertising and you’d naturally do whatever really feels good – so you wouldn’t waste your time with negative emotions, with greed, anger, jealousy because as you can see now that you’re back here – none of those are beautiful, none of them lead to happiness, none of them make any sense.

Then why do we do it?

You’re asking me? Rosebud.

“Rosebud? My name’s not R...” but before Sue Carter could finish what she was saying, the biggest smile appeared on her face, now that she’d remembered her real name.

“Shall we do this all together on the count of three?” Merry suggested.

Everyone seemed to know exactly what he was referring to. They always did this, just they hadn’t remembered a moment before – the unnaming when you take off your assumed name and recall your Faerie name.

“Here goes. All together now – and the words came to all of them spontaneously:

One two three – they clapped their hands once, did a little shimmy and turned around once –

I conjure a key – and they all held an imaginary key and turned it in an imaginary lock –

To set me free –  you could feel a door opening and see the faces change as each one recalled his or her real name.

This was always a special moment – when the Earthonauts remember their true name which is like remembering themself again. There was a lot of hand shaking, back slapping, hugging and kissing go on for a few minutes, and then everyone settled down again on the sofa.

So, you were asking Rosebud why you do it – why you go to Earth under an assumed name, which your parents then give you.

Oh – I was being a bit dim-witted wasn’t I, Merry.

Not at all. That’s the question that takes your mind back to the connecting link – that brings you back to your real identity. Someone has to ask it, so well done.

But what about the readers? Katie Bradshaw, now known as Moonglow asked.

They’re no different. They can only get so far by thinking about things in their mind. Unless they take the trouble to open the birdcage door and release their real name that’s trapped within – letting it flutter around – they’ll never see this as anything more than a childish story.

But how can they? It’s so difficult when you’re living with all those thought thingies in your head.

Never underestimate the power of story – Moonglow. Story has the power, the magic of Faerie woven into it – even if it’s a seemingly muck and brass, down to earth tale about life on the farm...

Or school...

Or family problems...

Or war...

Or sickness...

Yes to all these, Merry interjected. Story has a kind of secret code hidden between the words, or even between the letters, that helps the reader feel, remember, reconnect with Faerie.

So we don’t need to do anything to help them? asked Juniper Berry.

We don’t have to do anything – but of course we’re free to do whatever fills us with delight. So why not? We can help them if you like.

But how?

Story.

How's telling a story going to help people trapped in a nightmare they can't awaken from?

Telling a story won't, but the minute you start living your own story - full of poetry and magic - that shifts the balance massively. It affects everyone and everything.

But how do we live our own story?

Stop avoiding it. Stop telling yourself you can't - that you're unworthy, not good enough, afraid to, or whatever excuse you've managed to concoct. Story is all you're here for, all you can really achieve, all that matters, because as soon as your story comes alive, you're living in harmony with Faerie which means there's no longer any separation between the two sides. You become the gateway. You become the dancing Shiva, dissolving all illusions. You become the equation 0=1. But don't take my word for it. Try it out. Let the hero inside awaken. Let your hero guide you back to wholeness, completeness, self-realisation - to story's triumphant end.

But do you think we're not trying?

Trying? What's that got to do with it? Flying - story is about flying in the face of adversity - in resigning yourself to the romance, the impossibility of whatever seems to be weighing you down, because inside you feel, sense, know the pulse, the heartbeat of Faerie, the poetry, the magic of life itself that opens your wings when you've finally taken the plunge from the nest you were sheltering in. Let the inner poet be your guide. You can't fool him or her. Your verse is either alive or dead.

Er... Merry, we're not most of us poets you know.

Not? You're telling me you're not. You've done everything possible to kill the poetry, to poison its life streams, and yet the poet still lives, waiting for you to rekindle the flame.

How? It makes no sense.

Blow on it. How do you think. The poetry is a natural result of the interface between the two sides - between Faerie and DDD.

DDD? What's that?

What you call 3D reality. Death, doom and destruction I call it. Just a joke. There's a wave action between the two sides that flows through your very core - through your heart, and if you give it a little breath, a little love and encouragement, the fire will kindle beautifully, no matter what, no matter what, no matter what...

And Proximus Englethwait seemed to end his lecture with the words "no matter what". There was muted applause. A few polite questions. It hadn't been the kind of talk anyone had been expecting. Magicology, like dragonology was a dry, practical subject - or that's what the audience imagined as they left the lecture hall, oblivious to the 2 week vacation they'd just had with Merry at Faerie's premier rest and recuperation camp for tired and troubled 3Ders.