A meeting with Israel's leader.
|Upon His throne, Lord Sabaoth reigns. He is now Israel's Prime Minister.
His surroundings abound with light, as He seemingly does.
This vast throne room is cast entirely from steel, laid on a sapphire foundation plunging to great depths, a product of Promethean industrial design.
A sapphire foundation, a chamber lit by sapphire Lights, sapphire constantly.
It dances across His field gray Waffenrock uniform and steely throne; fragmenting into cyans, teals, and hues of true blue.
You ponder His spellbinding accent, hanging onto every word with a pursuit that springs from an inquisitive heart.
His poetic hand movements are curiously familiar, the inspiration for a counterfeit: Neural Linguistic Programming.
On a Wall, above and just behind His throne, an Iron Symbol glimmers, evocative of another counterfeit time in memoriam.
Here are the prototypes, the originals.
Wall and Symbol both, are colossal.
Your Leader lifts a clenched fist to His face: "You have had visions and dreams. When you have one, feel free to record it and receive understanding from me. I have helped you give away the understanding you receive. Hurting people pull much from you when you talk to them. Nobody is unapproachable for us. You are a matchless Knight in My service that never falls on the battlefield.
I see beyond your so-called "weaknesses" and see an indestructible warrior. You are a perfect fit for My purposes." He says.
"Out of the deep places in your heart have been drawn things that were not yet a part of your conscious thought process.
You and your progeny are My Jewish Kings, predestined to rule with me. It is real, that image you've wondered about, that visualization of your future beauty. Glorified, transfigured into this image that is burned into your consciousness! All who see you stare-transfixed, by what's been done.
All that was broken in the Russian-Israelite alliance has been fixed, even Novosibirsk, the war is over. You are like an electromagnet. Through you, I draw everything to Myself, even the Russians." Sadness, mixed with joy, permeates these particular words.
The confusion has dissipated and clarity comes.
The sight before you changes momentarily, as if its Lights had passed through an infra-red filter before hitting your retina, blocking most of the visible light spectrum. Creating a lurid montage of Brandeis blue and cosmic latte tones. It suddenly refocuses and normalizes.
In a vision, you see the Earth's firmament is literally Sabaoth's footstool. The soles of His gigantic jackboots can be seen piercing the Earth's thermosphere and Karman line, through the mesosphere's blue nimbus, to the planet's core.
He stares at you, eyes ablaze with a love that literally burns, an olive hued face that can be described as ethereal.
No multitude or bending of sublime words would suffice to explain the beauty of this image before you.
Lightning and thunderings shake this Citadel.
At His splayed right palm His radiant eyes stare. A holographic image is imposed on it.
"Your name Cary, it is graven upon My hand. I think about you, Benjamin Israel and Lois all day long.
You no longer drink of the cup that intoxicated you. There's absolutely nothing wrong with you."
Perhaps He used UV radiation to create this moving image upon His palm, some work of ultraviolet-induced fluorescent photography. There is an electric flash and it focuses.
A military carrier can be observed dropping off a rugged Benjamin Israel on the Sinai peninsula, smiling as he walks toward the IDF's 33rd battalion.