‘Every man is a creature of the age in which he lives and few are able to raise themselves above the ideas of the time.’ Voltaire
I had also been thinking a lot about the meaning of life and how we came to be here. And it occurred to me as we came out onto the broken-down road that cats might have created us to serve them. That seemed as reasonable as anything else I’d heard or thought of. Tom sometimes wondered if we were just brains in a vat connected to computer simulations. None of us actually know. Do we?
If we live in a simulation, then we don’t have freedom. Also, AI crossed over from science fiction into reality and scrambled our life and ability to discern truth. We are still living with the consequences.
As we navigated our way along the blasted-out road as the day rolled over into late afternoon, a mob of emus jetted past, and one turned its head like a submarine periscope. ‘Hello,’ I called. There was no answer.
I stopped in the road, tilting my head on the side; I could hear a crashing, slamming racket from somewhere down a dingy alleyway. As the others continued walking, I slipped into the gloom and peeped through a crack in a wall to see people gyrating, rocking, and slamming about, with silver smoke curling through the air and light from a hole in the roof shining on a blond wig in the crowd. The sounds came from the ragtag group hitting metal bins and other things with golf clubs and other implements. It’s a kind of dance club that’s really going off, I thought.
Later, we came to The Old House, a solid, simple, and symmetrical building from long ago. Inside, it was cool and dark, and we walked along a corridor lined with old photos, artefacts, oddities, and brick-a-brac on shelves.
Stopping in front of a tiny picture of dripped, splattered paint of various colours and black-looking straight lines at different angles, with notches on them. Merry Christmas, 1973, was written across the bottom.
‘I’ve never seen anything like this before, and I’ve seen plenty of Christmas cards in the houses I’ve been into,’ I said.
Ardent glared at the picture. ‘Yeah, I found it in the basement with heaps of other things. It reminds me of my mum, who was an artist. She took me to see that painting when I was a tot. She called it a revolutionary masterpiece of vibrant, bold energy and unique skill.’
‘I can’t see it,’ Tom said, pursing his lips, ‘though I think that popular art often seems to reflect the society of the time.’
‘Me neither,’ said Ardent. ‘Mum said that I must be a conservative, lacking imagination and preferring straightforward representational styles. I replied, ‘It actually reminds me of a book you read to me when I was young: The Emperor’s New Clothes.’
Ardent chuckled when he saw us looking confused. ‘It’s a kids’ story about some charlatans who pretend to make the king some clothes, and the people all admire his new outfit because they are too scared to speak up and appear stupid. It’s a small child who tells the truth: “But he has nothing on!” I keep this picture here to remind me that people see the world in very different ways.’
Tom, looking thoughtful, added, ’I tried to read this book described as "the most important work of modernist literature, but I found it detached and obscure, full of arcane complexity, with vague and concealed meanings and purpose. Being opaque and incomprehensible is sophisticated and intellectual, apparently.’
‘Certain types of people think that the way they see the world is the only way there is,’ I said haughtily. ‘There are other ways of seeing and knowing; I think this picture is fantastic!’
‘Also, there’s this book I read, where a person woke up and he’d randomly turned into a giant insect. I could relate to this story in various ways, especially how we can feel alone and life can feel beyond our control. There is such a thing as metaphor and symbolism, you know.’
‘In psychology research there are all these ambiguous pictures like Duck-Rabbit, Younger-Older Woman, and Rubin's Vase, which have two interpretations,’ Valour said. ‘These pictures trick us by confusing what you see with what we expect to see……. Of course, some people just see things that are not there at all.’
‘Most people see the world through the distorted view of their own beliefs, fears, and prejudices,’ Tom remarked.
I said, ‘Maybe my reality is just different to yours.’
‘That’s all very interesting,’ Ardent replied. ‘But how do we get people to agree enough so that we see the same future and move towards cooperating and creating a better world? That’s what I want to know.’
‘You’ve got to have a vision of a better, possible future and articulate it,’ Tom said. ‘We once used to live in a world where we had aeroplanes, mobile phones, and artificial intelligence. Then, people who still wanted to drive around in cars, go to resorts in jet planes, and were interested in the Moon and Mars landings wanted to bring the system down, saying that myths and stories were just as useful and powerful. They lost belief in the journey and no longer believed in the view of the future. And here we are.’
I piped up, ‘Why didn’t we just work on desert greening instead of going to Mars?’ No one responded.
‘Boffin’s dad is a neopagan,’ Valour said. ‘I told him once that mythical tales are like poetry; they can be beautiful and contain metaphorical truths, but science can actually bring people of different cultures and beliefs together, as it’s a tool anyone can use. It’s like comparing astrology to astronomy. But he just called me a dropkick.’
‘Have you heard of that country that used to exist called America?’ Ardent added, ‘Well, it split in two: North and South. Then, factions developed around socialism and capitalism, theocracy, nationalism, and others. As someone once said, ‘All -isms end up in schisms.’ ‘It’s a lunatic theatre, a ship of fools……The problem is always over there. Lies have triumphed,’ Arden added after a silence, ‘but not through me.’
‘You people are so literal and have no feelings,’ I stormed. ‘Does everything need observation and reproducible experimentation? There are other bodies of knowledge! You just select the data to back up what you already believe. You are lost in your own version of the world.’
‘All we are saying,’ Tom said reasonably, ‘is that we have to dissolve our delusions and take feedback from reality. Then added, looking thoughtful, ‘Creativity and the arts are important, though. Darwin was worried that his mind had become a kind of “machine” and wrote that, “if I had to live my life over again, I would have made a rule to read some poetry and listen to some music at least once every week; for perhaps the parts of my brain now atrophied would thus have been kept alive through use.”’
‘What a windbag human radio!’ Snarled a voice from the next room.
We all moved into a small dark room with rows of seats set around. There were two women spreadeagled on a chair each; one was Hera scowling. The other had a mane of blue hair, a tattoo of a wind-catcher on her right arm, and was dressed like an unmade bed.
‘Stop looking at my blue hair! I only have it so conservatives like you won’t talk to me. I could also burn my bra or eat smashed avocado to trigger yoou. No way I’m going to become some Stepford wife.’
‘Blue hair is related to nonconformity and mental instability’ Valour, announced. ‘And it seems that people who slavishly follow one type of fashion don’t see the irony when mocking another type of fashion.’
I groaned; both Tom and Valour favoured direct, clear communication, but it wasn’t smart to antagonise people so often. They were generally oblivious to the offence of their bald statements.
‘Let me tell you, gasbag, I trusted authority when I was young, and I was harmed and manipulated,’ she spat. ‘The system screws people over. The rich just kept getting richer and extracting more and more, and the rest of us lived with uncertainty and insecurity.’
‘You are right,’ Tom replied. ‘We are still here, but mostly, it was survival of the richest. There are mansions that have underground luxury bunkers with petrol generators, gardens, pools, cinemas, and enough food to last several lifetimes. The scale of wealth is obscene. Though I know that everyone has their own difficulties, challenges, and sorrows that cannot be escaped in life, such a lifestyle would provide a buffer and compensation that the rest of us deserve too.’
‘It would be interesting to see some of those films,’ mused Valour, ‘as it is said that films and art mirror the society in which they are made: the values, beliefs, and the stories told. But one thing I do know is that the rich had many passports and many homes. They were citizens of the world, and home had less meaning to them than it did for us…..They are stuck now, of course.’
I added, ’Nan said that films in the time before were outcompeting each other to be more and more provocative, claiming to be all about self-expression and social commentary, but pressing the shock value button was getting hackneyed, undermining any thought-provoking experience.’
Ardent nodded towards us to acknowledge our discussion, then turned towards Sylvia.
’Sylvia, I know what happened to you; it was unfair, horrible, wrong, and damaging, but we need a system of fairness, transparency, accountability, and justice. There was corporate despotism in the days before and the rise of the oligarchs, who used their money to entrench their power and who could hire the best lawyers to take their case. We must maintain our values and beliefs and not tolerate……’
‘No, you are part of the Deep State and just want to centralise power and invalidate the rights of the people,’ Sylvia roared. ‘This world is all about oppressors and the oppressed. That’s why there has never been equity. The oppressed have superior virtue. That I know! Denying the claims of the oppressed is itself oppression.’
Some people are quick to jump to anger and oppositional behaviour, I thought; blaming others can become a habit and a self-fulfilling prophecy. Sylvia obviously didn’t listen to Nan, who said to ‘try and be moderate and charitable in your discussions and criticisms, because if you don’t, don’t be surprised if you gain enemies.’
Tom squinted and looked at Sylvia. ‘Such zero-sum views don’t seem to pan out in the end, as if given a chance, the oppressed can become the oppressors. Also, there will never be equity of outcomes, as people have different practical realities. I’m clumsy and a bit blind, and I would never have been able to play for Penrith Football. But I think that I have other talents.’
Sylvia lifted her chin. ‘I should have been a famous musician and celebrity. I was making all my own stuff and putting it out there.’
‘What instrument did you play?’ Tom inquired.
Sylvia looked confused. ‘What? No, I used an online programme. What are you talking about? Mum tried to take me to piano lessons, but luckily nothing stuck. We creatives have to be free from the rules and customs of the past.’
Ardent looked exhausted. I became aware of two things at the same time. One, Nan said that Dad’s sister was named Sylvia. Could this be her in front of me? And two, there was a figure sitting bolt upright in a darkened corner, watching us carefully with yellow, owl-like eyes.
He was holding two books and looking from one to the other. The left hand clutched The Catcher in The Rye, and the right, The Fountainhead. ‘I’m just trying to decide whether I should feel more alienated or selfish,’ he said, seriously.
‘The brain tries to find patterns in the chaos of the world, but you have to be aware that exposure to a specific frame will influence your decisions and opinions,’ remarked Valour.
The man replied, ‘I like the idea of freedom as being To ask nothing. To expect nothing. To depend on nothing. That sounds cool. But, in reality, I feel more like Holden Caulfield: lonely, destabilised, and lacking connection. I’ve also felt shock, denial, pain, and guilt when I lost my whole family. And, I want their death to mean something, the same way that Holden wants Allie’s death to be acknowledged…..I don’t know.’
‘Some people are opposed to society. They think that only individuals exist,’ Ardent said. But there are groups with different histories, languages, cultures, traditions, and religions, and with different foundations.’
Those words of freedom were written by someone who opposed redistribution and the welfare state,’ added Tom. ‘She went on to later claim Social Security and Medicare payments under another name. It’s a very uncompromising and didactic book, in my opinion.’ Then said, ‘It is a full-throttle argument for Individualism over conformity, with no restraint. To me, our rights must be limited by the rights of others. As someone once said, “Absolute freedom is the right for the strongest to dominate.”’
‘Yes, I see.’ said the man coming out of the shadows, with another book on his lap called Twilight of The Idols. The free man is a warrior, it is said, but maybe ‘…absolute freedom could be a repression of freedom. I think you have to have a conscience too.’
‘This makes sense to me,’ Sylvia said in a remarkably reasonable manner. ‘The man who assaulted me was too free and powerful, and I could get no justice because others were scared for their own freedom. Also, I was regarded as transgressive when I should have been passive and accepting of the male gaze.’
Ardent added. ‘It has been said, do not do to others what you do not want them to do to you.’ (although if you were into B&D…) That is how I live my life. Others have said that freedom must be continually fought for and defended; I think this is true insofar as it relates to the freedom from tyranny. Rebellion, when it leads to destruction, does not advance any cause.’
Hera piped up, ‘You should not compromise on truth, knowledge, and your convictions, though. I’m a Capricorn, of course, and so I have a lot of inner awareness through my ruling planet, Saturn.’
Valour looked puzzled. ‘What are you talking about, Hera? You know that there is no evidence that the planets shape human behaviour. The whole thing is based on Babylonian sky observations and old myths, combined with vague descriptions and confirmation bias. There’s no mechanism behind it. You might as well say that that picture on the wall (he leant forward to read the name) of Farmer, Dimboola, can be interpreted to explain you and your life.‘
My head was spinning like a Queensland cyclone. ‘Are you from Springwood?’ I asked Sylvia, whose head also spun about crazily.
‘Yes,’ she replied, looking astonished. I told her about Nan, and she looked angry and sad at the same time. I mentioned that Valour was her nephew, but she didn’t seem interested.
‘I had one ’helluva teenage rebellion. Mum didn’t know what to do or where to turn. We’ll never make up now.’ She continued. ‘I saw Mum as just being in the way, blocking my freedom and wanting me to conform to patriarchal ideals. I don’t really remember her face too well, as I never really looked at it. She was always behind me complaining and trying to remind me of stuff….. I just felt so alive….I didn’t want to be held back. I saw through the false consciousness. And, anyway, I provided the folk devil for the moral panic of the times.’
The man in the corner was baffled. ‘Patriarchal ideals? You were just saying that men and women are social constructs….’
Sylvia flipped him the bird.
‘It’s weird to me how people want to have a rebellion against those who have their best interests at heart,’ said Tom, almost glaring. ‘People who have looked after you since you were helpless at birth, who stay awake and comfort you when you are sick…’
‘Not all parents are like that, twerp,’ Sylvia snapped snakily.
‘Nan, your mother, was always the best,’ I countered. ‘We still have your childhood books and drawings in the cave at Springwood. Nan kept them for you. There are also some that Nan won in her school Book Week Parade when she was young and some very old opals.’
‘Why would I want that old junk?’ Sylvia, snarled.
‘And,’ added Tom, ‘Nan had to have three rounds of fertility treatment to have you. She went through a lot.’
‘I didn’t ask to be born,’ Sylvia scornfully responded.
‘Historically, society has always put the blame on mothers. In ancient times there existed a “scapegoat,” an actual goat, who would be used as a ritual to carry away the sins of the people into the wilderness. Still, not so good for the goat,’ Valour added.
‘I think,’ said Ardent, ‘teen years are an important part of the development of the young person becoming an adult. Everyone wants to be active and feel fulfilled, but you have to learn to make decisions and control impulses.’
‘In the country that was China, before the steep decline and worldwide maelstrom,’ said Valour, ‘teen years were not viewed as a time of instability, but a time when you would learn to regulate your emotions and increase academic and school engagement.’ He paused, then continued thoughtfully. ‘…..The Chinese were the ultimate bootstrappers, but nobody creates themselves from nothing; we look about for examples of how we are supposed to be.’
Nobody said anything, so Valour went on, ‘A process occurs in most groups where an individual adopts the behaviour patterns of the culture. So what we expect to happen becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy, affecting our behaviour and outcomes. Just saying,’ he added, looking at Sylvia.
‘It’s like being stuck in the bottom of a well,’ Valour continued. ‘You think that the bottom of the well is all there is, because you can’t see anything outside. It’s all you know.’
The man in the corner said, ’The younger generation has always caused angst, it seems. All those years ago Socrates said, “Children; they have bad manners, contempt for authority; they show disrespect for elders and love chatter in place of exercise. They no longer rise when elders enter the room, they contradict their parents and tyrannise their teachers. Children are now tyrants.’
‘Socrates was probably just trolling,’ Valour answered dismissively.
Hera, who had been quiet and watching the proceedings, suddenly spoke. ‘I married when I was too young, to escape dirt poverty and though Ash never hurt me physically, there were mental games and torture. I was left questioning my own perception of reality. This manipulation was so subtle that I found it hard to communicate, and I spiralled into uncontrolled anger, which made people reject me. This rejection caused me physical pain, and I went away from people for many years. Until Janeus gave me a chance…….She put up with a lot……I was testing her….’ Hera started to cry. Then in a whispery voice, ‘I had a friend out there in the bush for a while, but Pip needed help. There was no help, only self-medication, which led to loss of reason, judgement….loss of everything….’
There was silence until Valour spoke. ‘I am sorry for you, Hera, but I can’t come and live with you……’
‘Actually, I am your closest adult relative now,’ Sylvia said flatly, as all heads swivelled towards her. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not keen. Too much of a free spirit. And I will be nobody’s motherhousewife.’
Tom looked down. ‘We will be alright, Sylvia, Nan prepared us well, she passed on important ideas and lessons to us, and I believe we have a good foundation on which to continue.’
‘Keep your la-dee-dah, high-hat on kid; nerds might be the future again,’ Hera replied, returning to her hard and brittle self.
‘Anyway, folks, I must adjourn this parliament, a word coming from the French for to talk or speak,’ said Ardent. ‘Use words instead of violence. That is our aim here. Now it is becoming dark; we must take cover for the night. Though, why are you here?’ He asked the man with the books.
‘The Monaro was on the loose, ‘cos they’ve found another nutter to menace and threaten life, so I ducked in here and found the books in your library.’
‘I have lived a life in books,’ stated Ardent as he picked up Theory of Moral Sentiments and smelled it like a perfume, ‘and I want this library to belong to everyone. When you read, you realise how wide the world is and how little you know about so many things. But that humbling experience is important, I think.’
‘Ardent,’ snarled Hera, ‘you are so in touch with your feminine side. Where is your aggression, assertiveness, and competitive streak?’
“I, like you, am an imperfect specimen and a complex person. I have those traits, but I try to balance them with other values.’
A stupendous crack of lightning lit the scene outside, followed by the bang-boom of thunder. The day had been hot and sweltering, full of tension, and Bunyip started to howl and moved closer to Candy.
‘Come on, let’s go down into the basement; it’s safer. Whenever there’s a mega storm, you get the doomsday lot on the loose.’
It had been deathly still, but now, the wind was wheeling about the building like an agitated coiling snake.
I glanced out the window; the view was ablaze with light, but I could see no one.
The door crashed inward; papers flew as the demon wind entered, bringing with it chemical aromas of petrichor and ozone.
‘The beasts tremble and look to heaven,’ a voice bawled from outside. ’ The sun will turn red.’
"A red sky at night is a shepherd's delight. A red sky in the morning is a shepherd's warning.” Hera droned, in a bored manner. She had experienced much stranger times than this.
‘The Sun just looks red when it is low on the horizon, like at sunrise and sunset,’ Tom said pleasantly. ‘It’s called Rayleigh scattering. Shorter wavelengths are scattered by dust and other particles in the air.’
‘Shut up, brat!’ Hera yelled.
‘Take no notice,’ Valour whispered to Tom. ‘Hera means no harm; she just has a lot of cycling moods. We haven’t been able to find any lithium for a while.’
Hera narrowed her eyes at Valour; she knew that there was truth in what he said.
‘Gene variants and other factors can cause mitochondrial dysfunction,’ Valour added. ‘It’s nobody’s fault.’
’Be careful, kid, with the words you use; they affect people, you know.’ Sylvia hissed as we made our way along the passage towards the basement stairs.
Suddenly, a large person appeared in the doorway, which had been flung open, backlit by lightning.
‘Oh, cripes! We are about to pass into a different world,’ Sylvia moaned. ‘This world is not built on concrete and custom. It is an impermanent and transitional place. And now, it is time to bring down the curtain.’
The huge figure began to step, swaying from side to side, towards us.
‘For goodness sake, Dion, these kids will be scared witless.’ Arden said in an exasperated manner. ‘I mean, why do you have to do this kind of thing?’
Looking puzzled, Dion replied, ‘Well…. you have to cut loose, don’t you?’
Ardent, looking Dion in the eye, asked, ‘Why?’ Dion merely shrugged, ‘Don’t knock it ‘till you try it, I always say.’
Ardent lit a candle, and we saw in front of us a man with a long, bushy beard, two big fluffy pink earrings, and long white hair, which had to be a very fake wig, and a silver dress.
‘G’day, pesky possums! Sorry if I frightened you, but I just can’t help myself sometimes,’ Dion hooted.
‘Are you friends?’ Valour asked, amazed.
‘Not only are we friends’, Dion replied. ‘But, we are also trying to form a governing body together with some other odd and interesting people.’
‘You don’t look like you should be friends,’ said Tom doubtfully.
‘Well, I was married to Ardent’s brother once upon a time, and Arden and I used to have some really good and constructive conversations. I remember that I said to him once. People like you don’t think that people like me should exist. But I do exist. And Arden said to me that people like me would prefer that people like him didn’t exist, but he does exist. We became friends after that.’
‘I have a tendency to be a boring, conventional, and brittle thinker,’ Arden said. ‘Dion shakes me up and makes me look at things from a new angle. Sometimes I can’t see his point, and sometimes he can’t see mine, but we keep talking and sometimes yelling just a little bit, but even though we have our closely held beliefs and convictions, we both refuse to stay in dead-end thinking.’
‘Our dead-ends are places to turn around for both of us. We can chuck a youey and realise that we are stuck in a head cage,’ Dion added. ‘I am really proud that I convinced Ardent about the preference of the majority. How the rights and freedoms of minority groups can be suppressed.’
‘I also countered that a preference of the minority can develop, and where criticism is recast as bullying. But, essentially, we are trying to organise the mess so that we can all share resources and people can pursue goals,’ said Ardent. ‘We need to find mechanisms to protect rights and ensure that people fulfil their obligations……And, we need to convince those who want no government, private property, or even money.’
‘Money is just another one of your fictions. I am less into the idea that society is a kind of extended family than you are, Ardent dear. I value my independence and individual rights, and I want a government to stay the hell out of my private life.’
Ardent clapped Dion on the back, ‘Though the traditional bonds of family and local community do mean something to me, and I include you in that network, dear friend. We just don’t want this growing community to become unstable and segregated again, where the centre cannot hold. We also want freely associating individuals and not clans and nepotism. Of course, my views are regarded as counter-cultural these days.’
After this, we went down the stairs and ate some baked beans from a can and fell asleep on the camp beds dotted about.
I woke in Parramatta Gaol in a cell, with harsh sunlight falling through the bars on the window. Cockroaches crawled on the dripping walls, and fermenting, foul smells assaulted me.
A group of Theocratic Sovereigns had stormed The Old House during our sleeping hours and forced us to walk to the gaol through the wind and rain.
I lay there, still damp, thinking about Nan and how she had warned me about believing that our present life was normal and ordinary. She said that how life was at the time you lived could become normal because that’s all you know.
The Theocratic Sovereign’s gender apartheid separated me from Tom and Valour. I was even separated from Sylvia and Hera because they were ‘fallen women.’ Bunyip and Candy were deemed ‘dirty animals’ and left outside the walls.
After some time, there was the metallic scrape of a key in the lock. A woman shrouded in fabric entered with a tray of food and a bottle of water. ‘There is no life without water,’ she whispered.
Her voice and manner soothed me, so I asked, ‘Why are we here?’
‘The people that I am with wish to erase women from public life. They want to prohibit their faces from being seen, and their voices heard. They believe that women should be at home or in a grave. These are the choices.’
‘Why are you here?’ I asked.
‘This is where we live. I have not left this building since I was captured.’
‘My mother was captured, too.’
‘There are many of these groups, and so many women die in childbirth……I shall inquire about her; someone may know something.’ She then picked up my incomplete hand and held it gently against her warm cheek before she left.
After this, I dropped into a disturbed sleep, haunted by a kaleidoscope of dreams, where I was pursued and then a pursuer.
Two beady eyes were observing me from the high window when I surfaced from sleep. The cockatoo rubbernecked me for another minute and then joined the rest of his punk gang in a gum tree.
Cockatoos seemed so free and happy, freewheeling about, doing whatever they want. I considered that cockatoos also look pretty much the same, which is different from the people that I know, who have red, black, brown, blonde, curly, and straight hair. Dion has no hair under his wig. I don’t want to live in a society that examines our outward appearance to see whether we conform to the group.
Nan said that she’d been told she was too black, too white, or a coconut. ‘I’m just me,’ she told them. ‘Just me.’
Tom says that humans have so much variation because of adaptation to environmental factors. He says that although people who come from sunny places near the equator tend to have darker skin for protection, those from cold places with less sun have developed lighter skin so that they can absorb vitamin D. These differences, he says, are overshadowed by individual differences between people.
I remembered how Nan said that when she was young, some groups used to have spokespeople who would communicate the views of ‘our people.’ I don’t like the idea of ‘groupthink.’ I reject mental slavery; I want to make my own mistakes and choices. I want to express what I think and feel, and if I’m wrong, change course. ‘I must be free to be MYSELF.’
I continued to lie there in the cell with my mind roaring, roaming about, and running free. The cockroaches continued their wall journey, and I wondered what they would be like with glossy green coats instead of brown. Insect populations had burgeoned in recent years, and I had often woken with a spider crawling towards my mouth.
Days melded into nights, time blurred, rain fell, and heat bloomed. My mind stirred and voyaged through memories that knocked me about and ideas that trod familiar paths, then cut about and cannonballed convention. Dreams took over my mind, and I was remade as someone else: me but not me.
Different people came and brought me food and water, but none spoke again or revealed themselves to me, a rat in a maze.
Lights began to pulse around me; I talked to myself and had intense conversations. I sang songs and felt the chainsaw of intense anxiety. Most frightening were the giant eyes, which pulsed and covered the walls. Then, I would blink, and they would be gone.
I heard screaming from far away, the slap of feet on concrete, and then arms around me, holding me. I was screaming. I had left myself, but I had returned to my mind.
‘They have finally let me come to you,’ the woman with intense possum-like eyes said softly. ‘They said you needed to be alone, in a way that would pass for being lost in the wilderness or alone in a cave, in order to be reborn.’
‘I was going mad,’ I said.
‘No, you experienced the thin veil between this world and the spiritual realm.’
The woman went on like this for some time, telling me what I thought and what were my true feelings and beliefs. The only problem was, she was wrong. I had enough insight to know that the isolation had caused my break with reality. If my mind had been further broken and more fragile, I might have believed what she said.
Two young children ran into the room, a boy and a girl. They had my eyes. I looked at the woman who had these same eyes.
‘Yes, I am your mother. I was waiting until you were ready to join us.’
Something rose up in me, like a fighting kangaroo. I was appalled. These people and my mother, because that’s who she was, had been willing to break my mind so that I would join them. And these children here were indoctrinated from birth.
It was not that I did not believe that there was a spiritual realm. It was that I could not know if it were true. Some chose to take a leap of faith; I could understand that as a personal decision. I resented the whole idea of indoctrination mills, of being coerced and compelled to make speeches in which I do not believe. That is authoritarianism. And yet, I was silent. Was I beginning to question my beliefs?
I wondered if I was hallucinating again, as I could see a woman in a business suit, court shoes, and giant gold earrings coming through the doorway carrying a sleek briefcase. She was kind of awkward, I thought, like her body was an annoying hat that didn’t quite fit or belong to her and might fly off in the wind at any moment.
‘Good morning, I am Cantilever Monkton, and I have a court order and a writ of habeas corpus. I believe that there is the unlawful confinement of various individuals in this building.’
‘Freedom of the person under protection of habeas corpus,’ said Tom, sliding into the room and grabbing my hand.’
‘I represent liberty of conscience and the freedom and rights of humans through Magna Carta and the Bill of Rights, which we are working on,’ Cantilever Monkton continued, as an aside.
‘Belief cannot be forced and we are for freedom of conscience,’ she continued. ‘We represent a secular state and separation of church and state. We also reject establishing any religion or requiring a religious test for any office. No one will be punished for differences in opinion in matters of religion. All people are equal and have the rights of liberty in this state. Although, personally, I have concerns about a potential Fifth Column who want to undermine peace and security.’
Ardent and Dion stepped into the room, along with Valour, Hera, and Sylvia. I felt a surge of happiness. Then came the man who was in the waiting room at The Old House, saying, ‘Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody.’
Ardent turned to us, ‘We managed to convince these Sovereigns that it was in their interest to free us. I said that we would ensure the equal protection of the law for every person. We would require no compulsory speech. We are against authoritarianism and anarchy. We are for checks and balances, equality, and fairness for all people. However, all persons, organisations, and the government will be subject to and accountable to the law. To put it simply, other Sovereigns had been trying to imprison them and deprive them of their property, and they could see the point of a system where all are accountable to the same laws.’
Tom looked at our mother. ‘Hello,’ he said.
‘Hello, Tom. You are different, and yet in essence I believe that you are very much the same,’
Tom just looked confused, ‘Let’s leave this place; we are free now.’
‘I cannot leave. This for me, is the best of all possible worlds. I have been obedient, and I have also shown devotion. I was terrified at first, certain that I would die…..But then I was allowed to live,’ Mother said.
Our mother went on and on about her life, about the pain in her shoulder, how she didn’t sleep last night, and how the food wasn’t what she was used to. I realised that she was one of those self-absorbed people who think they are more important than everyone else and others are there to serve or listen to them. My mother never once asked how we were; she was not interested. She was the centre of her own universe.
Tom and I explained that we couldn’t live in this way, without freedom, and after promising to return often and visit her, we got out of there while the going was good.
I couldn’t help wondering if the values of these Theocratic Sovereigns —the denial of freedom and trying to impose their beliefs on others, not to mention gender inequality —were simply incompatible with the aims that Ardent had spoken about. Ardent was all for tolerance and pluralism. But I kept wondering if we tolerate toxic beliefs, could the excess of tolerance lead to the destruction of tolerance? Does tolerance mean that I should be forced to respect beliefs that I don’t actually respect? Ardent said that there was a really monstrous group of Theocratic Sovereigns about before, who were so frightening that they united all people against them for a while.
As we departed this unfortunate place and stepped into the light, I asked Cantilever Monkton about her choice of clothing. I hadn’t seen anyone wearing such clothes before. I had only seen photos in old magazines under business attire. I didn’t ask her about her bitten-down fingernails, though.’
‘Well, I want to communicate that I am a serious person who means business. I am not shallow or trivial; I take a practical, no-nonsense approach to life, and I have a sense of duty and obligation. My clothes say that I am reliable, patient, and persevering. I try to maintain my composure and not be swayed by emotion and opinion. When I’m not working, playing my flute, or gardening, I wear my brightest clothes and earrings.’
‘What do you think this is, bush week? You are just an actor on the stage, just like me,’ Dion sneered. ‘I represent human diversity. You are just bland and boring. I dress like this,’ he waved at his glowing yellow jumpsuit, which he had magicked from somewhere, ‘to tell everyone that people like me exist and we can’t just be homogenised into the mainstream.’
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