Category Archives: Java Tales

Java and the Sacred Spiral: Part I

Java and the Sacred Spiral

I took Faerie for the first time: finally folding under the peer pressure of my Shaman friend, Joseph, who had already tried it the week before with his own Spiritual Advisor. First, we Prayed and smoked the Peace Pipe in our usual manner. Then Joe added the green crystals to a hot cup of coffee for each us. The Faerie added a slight sweetness which reminded me of stevia.

Just after finishing the last sip of the cup o’ joe, both of us began to take the Spirit Walk. I immediately left my body sitting cross legged by the campfire, rose up toward the crescent moon and saw the forest recede away from me.

Just then I saw a bright chariot approach me on a Rainbow Bridge pulled by giant cats: pumas, tigers, panthers, cougars, jaguars and lionesses. At the reigns of the chariot was an unimaginably beautiful Woman with a hunting horn around her neck and a spear in her right hand. At once I recognized her as Freyja the Norse goddess of Fertility and Passion. I raised both hands as a sign of submission then Freyja spoke: “Welcome, Java, I have been hunting you in your Dreams of late, but only now with Faerie do let me in?”

I nodded for speech eluded me at the moment.

“Now you know exactly what your next step can be?”

I nodded again: mute.

“Very well, young Java. Remember you are just a Dream away from me. You can call on me at any time and I will assist you. Now, go with Courage in the Risk you must now take.”

I then lowered my head and knelt down Humbly to pray with Grace.

Then her voice became the Cry of a Hawk: “Rise, Spiritual Warrior! Go Boldly into the Void!”

Immediately I returned to my corporeal body sitting beside the campfire. Joseph had obviously not yet returned from his own Vision Quest and appeared in a State of Bliss. Just then I noticed a third man had joined us around the fire. He was softly drumming a heartbeat rhythm on a simple djembe drum. I noticed he had a patch over his right eye and a threadbare old, floppy grey hat which matched his timeworn grey cloak. At that moment I felt that my right hand had a tambourine that was keeping time with the steady heartbeat of the djembe by the Stranger. Soon the Stranger began to sing in an alien tongue which sounded like “Hey, yo, you. Yeah, yo.”

The Drummer stopped suddenly and asked: “Who are you, my Friend?”

“My friends call me Java.”

“Like coffee?”

“Exactly. I am a Java Shaman by Nature and by Trade. Who are you?”

“My friends call me Wodin.” He replied.

“Like the Norse Sky God?”


“That’s funny because I just got done talking to your wife, Freyja.”

“Funny ‘Ha, ha’ or funny ‘What’?”

“Funny ‘What’ I guess.”

“Yeah. She and I have been on the rocks, lately. We had quite the row a few days ago.”


Awkward Silence.

“Well, anyway, it’s really none of my business.”

“On the contrary. You are who we were fighting about.”

“Really!?!” I exclaimed.

“I’m more hands on. She prefers subtlety.” He began to drum the heartbeat softly again, so I began to see him as the god or angel that he truly was.At that moment two Ravens landed on the ground just at the edge of the light of the campfire. Joe still had that faraway look in his eyes: oblivious.

The first Raven spoke to his Master: “We must be gone from this place. The Enemy approaches! Caw! Caw!”

The second Raven joined in: “Caw! Caw!” And then whispered into Joe’s ear. Instantly Joe came out of his Revelry:
“Say what?”

“We must go. Now!” Wodin yelled.

Joe looked at me with a “‘who’s this’ expression on his face. I just shrugged my shoulders with an ‘I’ll explain later’ look in my eyes.

In the distance I heard the sound of horses approaching and was filled with Fear.

“Worry not, my new found Friends. That is the sound of our Salvation.” Wodin explained. Three horses appeared at the edge of the clearing and I noticed that one of them had eight legs: Sleipnir, Wodin’s horse. The other two were a palomino and a red roan. “Quickly, my Friends, we must away: Swiftly!”

“I have never ridden bare back, Wodin!”

“Worry not. Hang on to their mane. They know to follow me. Away!”

We galloped away from the campfire and down a dark and narrow trail. Branches whipped at my face and my hat was knocked off my head. No one had been down this trail for a long time. The thought came to me that I could still be sitting by the campfire following Wodin on another Vision Quest. But the sting of the branches on my face and the rippling of the horse’s muscles between my legs assured me that I was in the Here and Now: following a god toward an Unknown Destination.

The Moon appeared above the trees in all its fullness and beauty so that the Trail clearly before us for the first time: Wide and straight up the ridge line of a rocky mountain. I leaned forward on the horse to make the climb easier for both me and my horse. Without warning Wodin’s great steed leapt off the top of the mountain in to thin air and began to hurtle through the bright night. Our horses followed him as if the air was solid ground.

The Man in the Hoodie: The Return Home

Part IV

The Man in the Hoodie: The Return Home

I met him at JoZ’s coffee shop and he wore a blue hoodie. Drinkin kold brew espresso, he wore a smile on his face. He had a laptop but appeared not to be using it — aloof but friendly, none the less. He was one of my friends, after all . . .

“Hey, I just met you . . . but here’s my email, so . . . write me, maybe.”

“Yeah, sure.” That’s the way we left it that first day.

He shot me an email, told me to meet me at JoZ’s at 6 pm. I got there at five. I came correct with well thought out small-talk, dressed to impress. Topics included: space-time, string theory, Presidential politics, the Olympics, etc. But he never showed. What da kup? So I decided to chase some tail instead. No such luck. I used to be good at flirting with women, but since I quit drinking, I’ve kinda lost my touch. Whatever.

I got an apologetic email around eight. You get that dirt off your shoulders. Brush ya shoulders off. Night. No Moon or Stars. Cold. Damn cold. Windy, too. Walking down the middle of the street lined with Abandoned Homes. Snow muffled all sounds, except for the shuffling of my boots. Are you with me so far?

Ole Man Winter and the Hawk: a deadly combination, my friends. More than any other emotion, I was terrified, with no Hope of Consolation. I had been Lost for so long — in the Maze of my own Mind, so Lost in the Labyrinth that any hope of my Way was gone. Or maybe, I was only ten feet from the Exit, but what’s the difference? They wouldn’t let me Out anyways. Totally Starbuxed.

Reminds me of a recurring Nightmare I’ve had. I saw a glimpse of my future: I saw myself in my late 50s with a mangy, half grey beard. I hadn’t showered in a month of Sundays. I was obviously lost. And above all I was scared shiteless. I did not know where I was or where I was going, but looked like the West Side of Chicago. Bux me, bitch.


Part XV: Java Goes Nuclear

Part XV: Java Continued

‘So here’s my number, so call me, maybe.’

The Day started like any other, I roll out of bed about seven, get up around nine. Pray and
Meditate. Cereal and Coffee. I made the mistake of turning on the News. Whoops! Iran shot a Silkworm missile at one of our destroyers, so it was on like Donkey Kong. Full-on: Retaliation from sky and sea. We finally have an excuse to Bomb Iran. We said, ‘I’m so glad you came! Thanks for playing. Good riddance.’ Iran was summarily wiped of the face of the Earth. ‘See you in Hell, Bitches,’ was their reply. Syria and Lebanon immediately attack Israel, full on. Then Israel nukes the shit out of both of them.

‘Drunk again and looking to score!’ Carmen says.

‘Used to happen more than I like to admit.’ Says Java.

So, anywho . . . where was I? Oh, yeah, the news: Full-on! War! Despair and Destruction! Is it the End? No, not yet. Soon, you’ll see . . .

The News has not been Good for a good while now. Can’t you see the writing on the wall, my friends? From Mumbai to Memphis, the shit is seriously hitting the fan. What should we do? Hang on? Let go? Both, I believe, is the Answer. What do y’all think ’bout dat? ‘There’s a thousand yous, there’s only one of me.’

My premonitions had been right again. The only Dreams I remember are those that predict the Future: Like Joseph and the Pharaoh or Daniel and Nebacanezer. Scary good. I need Holy Joe to interpret my Dreams. When I attempt to do it myself, I get all twisted up, naturally, but Holy Joe has yet to let me down. He’s cool like that.

So as soon as I saw the special report, I gave Holy Joe a call: ‘Did you see the news, Bro?’

‘No. News of what?’ Joe was kind of a recluse.

‘We just nuked Iran.’

‘Didn’t you have a Dream about that a few weeks ago?’

‘Yeah. Is your CRS kickin’ in?’

‘No. I remember. Something about lightning bolts killing Muhammad. Then he came back as a Zombie? Right?’

‘Uh-huh. Then the Zombie ate Manhattan.’

‘Not good. Israel is probably next.’ I knew he was frowning on the other end of the phone.

‘Syria and Egypt have already attacked with conventional arms.’

‘Damn. I hate it when I’m right about your Dreams.’

‘Me too.’

So I stayed glued to Fox News because they have hotter news readers. Syria raised the stakes when they brought out the mustard gas. Obviously, Israel retaliated with a nuclear strike: War over and the international outcry began. End of Dream, thank God. I called Holy Joe again:
‘Joe. Are you watching the news now?’

‘No. Why?’

‘The War is over.’

‘I doubt it. Do you remember that other Dream you had?’

‘Which one?’

‘The one about the Flood.’

‘Oh yeah . . .’

‘Oh no. The Flood of refugees. The half-dead. The Children.’

‘Don’t remind me.’

That night I had another Dream. I was standing in the midst of a battlefield. On one side was a mechanized army of terriable perportions. On the other was a host of giants armed with swords and spears. On each giant rode a man armed with a bow. These seemed completely out gunned by the mechanized force, but when the tanks unleashed their shells they exploded harmlessly far from