Boogeymen and Bedtime Stories

Contents

Introduction

Preface

Chapter 1 – The Dark

Chapter 2 – Drain

Chapter 3 – Symmetry Breaking

Chapter 4 – Purple

Chapter 5 – Nebula

Chapter 6 – The Jester

Chapter 7 – Ants

Chapter 8 – Cosmic Dance

Chapter 9 – Awake

Chapter 10 – Monsters

Chapter 11 – Spiders

Chapter 12 – Bones

Chapter13-Madness at the Edge of Chaos

Chapter 14 – Down

Chapter 15 – Shadow

Chapter 16 – The Jester’s Demise

Chapter 17 – Peel Away

Chapter 18 – Friend

This book is dedicated to my family and to Charlie.

Introduction

Imagination is a gift of life. It has enabled us to survive through the ages. We dream ourselves and our world into being and have done so since the beginning of time. Even in our modern world, we value imagination and creativity. Imagination is one thing that I am consciously thankful for every day. It enables me to explore exactly what it means for me to exist. Imagination is truly magical and has the power to create worlds and explore the cosmos.

I could never have imagined in my wildest dreams how this story would evolve. Boogeymen and Bedtime Stories began as an idea for an audio album. It was going to be a concept album spanning eighteen tracks that would explore the subtle organizing factors of the universe. While the music was well underway, a thought occurred to write a narrative explaining the tenants of the project. A full-length companion to the audio was completed: "Boogeymen and Bedtime Stories, The Nightmare Explained." Finally, driving through a winding mountain road on a midsummer morning, another thought congealed — the story itself. This story unfolded over the following year.

The story, the non-fiction companion, and the audio album all correlate. Each spell in this story is directly extracted from the lyrical content of the audio album. Each corresponds with the other, chapter by chapter, track by track. The tracks on the audio album will transport you to the scenes within the story. The metaphors and vivid descriptions from specific scenes in the story are rooted in the audio tracks. For example, the phrase ‘blackened purple’ in Chapter 4 is abstracted from track four of the audio, Purple. The menacing poem in Chapter 14, Down, is directly abstracted from the audio. The dynamic landscape in Chapter 13 comes to life in the audio track, Madness at the Edge of Chaos. Quite literally, the audio track Bones, like Chapter 12 of the story, is sung by a living, dancing skeleton. There is a strong, cohesive relationship between the different aspects of the project.

Boogeymen and Bedtime Stories is much more than a book; it is a concept that spans many media formats. The story itself is a modern-day folklore tale brought to life by the work of the menacing trickster, whose sole purpose it to contact the mind of every mortal, instigating his diabolic recipe for awakening the slumbering mind. The ancient trickster makes himself known to Charlie, a disillusioned man who takes an unexpected hiatus from work to finally resolve the puzzle that has haunted his mind since childhood. Their interactions break the boundaries of time and space, leading to situations and events far off the beaten path. The lessons imparted by the ancient trickster have unseen consequences to the life of Charlie, and before he knows it, he is swept along by the situations and events instigated by The Boogeyman.

Tales of tricksters appear in many folklore traditions around the world and persist in today’s popular culture as well. Typically, tricksters defy the normal laws of behavior and either distract attention or fool one’s attention into finding a hidden quality of life. Sometimes they are malicious, sometimes benevolent. In many traditions, the trickster is a cultural hero, whether stealing the secret of fire from the gods and bestowing this gift upon mortals, or protecting mortals from all manner of monsters and villains.

The Boogeyman is a mentoring trickster who exists to free mankind from their own oppressive understanding of reality. He has walked beside mortals since the dawn of man, subtly whispering his diabolic tale in the ears of slumbering mortals, gently persuading all to look beyond the accepted model of reality. He is a true shape-shifter, appearing in any form that complements the minds of those he visits.

On a fateful summer evening, The Boogeyman announces his presence to Charlie, and together they embark on a journey that spans the entire cosmic creation. The lessons imparted by the ghoul are steps along a path that lead to an unconventional view of life and the universe.

Charlie quickly learns that once the door is open, he can never go back. Each lesson alters the perception of reality in an irreversible manner that would forever change his world. Each lesson builds upon prior experience and quickly gains momentum until an unmistakable global property emerges. Under the tutelage of The Boogeyman, Charlie is transported to worlds unseen by the human mind and is forever changed. If the ancient ghoul is successful in his aims, the entire universe becomes illuminated and aware. If the workings of the ghoul should fail, the world is doomed to the confines of mundane, material reality.

The inspiration of the project comes from life itself. The world is on fire. These are interesting times where interesting ideas are comingling to form the most unusual picture of life and the universe. Boogeymen and Bedtime Stories is inspired by modern theories of complexity, emergent properties of complex adaptive systems, the viewpoint of cosmology, and its picture of the universe, cognitive neuroscience, art, creativity, being, and becoming.

There are references and situations involving many well-known scientists and public figures that are completely fictitious. Any such references are done so with the greatest respect. The individuals appearing in the story are certainly worthy of a great focus of attention beyond the scope of this project.

There are references to the late, great David Bohm, a groundbreaking physicist who bravely offered non-mainstream solutions to problems facing ‘the new physics’ of the subatomic world. Mr. Bohm is also the author of the extraordinarily beautiful concept of The Implicate Order of Being. He has written many books that are understandable and accessible to the general public, explained patiently in laymen’s terms.

There are references to Stuart Kauffman, for whom I have great admiration. His works are used to illustrate specific points of interest. Stuart Kauffman is a brilliant man who leads the field in the study of emergence. His theories on life’s beginnings are inspired, his autocatalytic sets are hauntingly beautiful and his explanations of phase transitions are clear and understandable. He is the author of many books that continue to leave my mouth agape and feel inspired.

Of course there are many others. I have a warm place in my heart for Don Lincoln for his patient, understandable and eloquent book Understanding the Universe. Benoit Mandelbrot inspires me to unfold the vague impressions in my mind until they become solidified ideas.

The great people mentioned here help introduce concepts The Boogeyman will build upon to demonstrate an aspect of life and an order of being to his slumbering mortal friend. The lessons reveal a labyrinth of hidden orders that build upon each other until a larger emergent order becomes apparent.

There are few questions that one can pursue for an entire lifetime more worthy of such a pursuit than Who am I? That is the aim of science, religion and all manner of human endeavors — attempting to answer this question and expressing it through creativity. It has become the norm of society to not ask this question. Most people are far too frightened, sensing the enormity of life. Fortunes are made from people feeling inadequate, fearful and lost. Television commercials are always telling you what you need in order to be happier, complete, and otherwise totally distracted from the big question, Who am I?

Boogeymen and Bedtime Stories is a fun exploration of the inescapable pull that beckons one to ask this question ruthlessly until it is answered. There is no greater service you may provide to all of mankind but to answer this question for yourself.

This story is certainly not the answer. It is a frozen moment, a picture of the infinite nature of the universe. It is a stream of being unfolded. The answer does not lie outside the self, printed in type on paper. It is at the core of every man’s very being and is accessible to the mind. While this tale has grand and fantastic events, these pale in comparison to the actual unfolding of each person’s path through life. The real journey is more magical and far-reaching than a fictional story could ever capture.

In time, long after having read this book, when your life takes you to unexpected places and you find yourself wondering at the extraordinary sequence of events that have been your life experience, I could only hope that you will remember this tale and imagine The Great Trickster gently calling to you to recognize your truth. Until that time, I warmly invite you to grab your favorite blanket, or whatever brings a sense of comfort and Enter The Nightmare.

Preface

The open fire pits seemed out of place. The smell of roasting meat filled the air as I ran down the wide corridor strewn with ragged campsites and weathered people. I had been here before; in fact, many times. This time was a bit different. Although this place has the same feel, the same ‘spirit,’ it was physically different. I didn’t understand the wild-eyed look of the people, the tone of desperation, or the out-of-place village.

I was chasing my old friend Sid down the corridor and had to get to him before he was doomed to the same fate as the wild villagers. It was as though life itself was conspiring to take back what it had given, snatching away freedom and propagating the veil that covers all that is good. I’d lost Sid in the crowd and anxiety grew into desperation. I was certainly out of place and stuck out like battleship in a bathtub. The gazes from the villagers revealed a hostile anger that I felt with each eye that found my own.

It was a frightening and unexpected twist when the voice announced itself. This part was certainly new. It never happened this way before. I was running down the long corridor that looked like a holding area for the wilderness people. The voice instructed me to look at the people. I could see the fear and hostility in their eyes. I yelled aloud, These people are not free. What would you have me do?

The voice returned, Free them. Wake the sleeping giant.

I sat up in bed drenched from head to toe. The dream had haunted me for as long as I could remember, but never quite like this. It never spoke. It began over fifteen years ago, first appearing as a house. Over the years, the recurring dream actually changed and morphed. Sometimes it took the form of an institution, a hospital, or school. This time it took the form of a great indoor village. But the place always had the same feel. This was how I could identify it and know it was the same place. The feel was unmistakable.

I usually dismissed the dream as a manifestation of the discontent that I felt in my life. Every man digests time differently and I always felt that time was of the essence. There was much to do and a limited amount of time to do it. I felt the clock upon my back with each step I took. Trying to identify the cause of this anxiety haunted me from a young age.

Ever since I could remember, I had an annoying feeling that I needed to do something important, but didn’t know what it was. I felt that every person had unique circumstances that inevitably determined their path through life. Some were born to be doctors, scientists, inventors, or leaders. Many realize their usefulness in raising their families. I felt like a ship lost at sea and didn’t know how to even begin to discover what I could contribute. I felt life passing by and felt like a freeloading stowaway hitching a ride. The truly torturous part was detecting a continuity that tied the individual beads of experience together. It was an irritating reminder that I was correct to look for a way to harness my unique life and use it to create something worthwhile. I was simply failing at the task.

Inevitably, I would choose a career out of necessity to earn a paycheck. The world of consulting engineering held absolutely no interest, but it was a path I would walk for twenty years. I usually dismissed the recurring dream as an expression of the conflict and turmoil that was never quite resolved, having conformed to the expected norm.

I’d become a bit hardened through the years. I was very good at my job, but it was just that: a job. I felt there was much more to this existence than the typical nine-to-five type of reality. Unresolved anxiety from my youthful days of trying to find my place in life lingered. Not a day passed when I didn’t think long and hard about my place in life and what I wanted to do with my time here. The days, months, and years labored by, but the discontent never diminished. So I did what I could to endure a dull and unfulfilling career — I diverted my attention.

Music was the one constant in my life. Ever since I could remember, I was completely enthralled with music. It was here that I found reprieve from the mundane reality of working at a job for which I held no passion. I’d spent most of my twenties and early thirties playing in rock bands. My instrument was the bass. I found playing the bass totally liberating. Playing on stage for hundreds of crazy, screaming fans was surreal. It was the place where I felt most at home.

The bands that I played in were not as altruistic as Bono. We were not trying to spread a message or save the world. Rather, we were trying to entertain young folks as they consumed ridiculous amounts of alcohol. To that aim, we were very successful. We were given opportunities that most local bands would never know, and enjoyed spreading our debauchery up and down the east coast.

Then one day, looking out into the rowdy crowd, I noticed their faces were getting younger and younger, and I knew it was time to let go of this aspect of my life. As the blur of the thirty-something years whirl by, (I’m sure you can attest to the fact that) you reach a point in life where the world gets younger and younger. I first noticed this in the workplace. I was always the youngest. The tables slowly turned until I found myself a senior-level employee mentoring the young college grads. Then you start to notice youth all around; the police were getting younger and younger, the news anchors, politicians…it is a world driven by youth, and I became restless, hanging onto an outlet where I felt more like a teenager than a grown man. I respectfully bowed out of the band, and the bright glow of my amplifier’s vacuum tubes faded to a dull orange and into my past.

It was late spring in the hills of northern Pennsylvania. The mountains had burst to life after a long, cold, and snowy winter. I lived alone in a cabin that I had built. It was the only smart thing I did in my twenties! I’d always loved the mountains, and always wanted to live among countless trees and natural beauty. I’d grown up in a suburb of Philadelphia and spent my youth tromping the local woods. Inevitably, development would steal our woods as new residential houses were springing up everywhere. This caused me to look elsewhere for the comfort of the woods just as soon as I was old enough. In my mid-twenties, I bought a five-acre wooded parcel on the top of a mountain, nestled on the rim of a valley where three hills joined, surrounded by several hundred undeveloped wooded acres. It was perfect, complete with a creek and tiered waterfall down in the thick woods. A year later, the cabin was underway, and after seven years of chipping away at it on weekends, my house was finally finished.

I took a job at an engineering firm in the city about forty miles south. It wasn’t a bad job. It was a satellite office for a large firm. They were very employee-oriented and offered a flexible schedule. Most importantly, it was a tolerable commute from my abode in the woods. We provided engineering services for residential and commercial developers, obtaining their permits and designing everything related to the site work of a project: earthwork, storm water, utilities, and the like.

It was a beautiful, crisp spring morning when I had to visit the county courthouse to perform the deed research on a parcel we were to develop. The courthouse was old. It was built in the 1800s from stone harvested from nearby quarries. The recorder of deeds office was located in the dingy basement. It seemed fitting that research had to be performed in a dark and uninviting place.

After an hour of pulling deeds, I was unable to find the last necessary piece of the puzzle, so I went to the clerk for assistance. The glances from the other people working in the poorly lit basement sent a shiver down my spine, reminding me of the bizarre dream of the sleeping village. Within a few minutes, the clerk returned with a pile of printed deeds. I gratefully took the papers and thanked him. There was something familiar about him. A glint of familiarity shone in his eye. For a moment, I felt an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. A wave of uneasiness passed through my body and I felt as I did running down the camp-lined corridor of the fantastic dream.

I took a seat at the old wooden table and splayed the papers out before me. There was nothing glamorous about deed research; it was pretty mundane business. There was a particularly old piece of parchment at the bottom of the pile of papers that drew my attention. I was a bit confused when the article didn’t contain typical surveyor language. Instead, it contained what appeared to be a riddle, handwritten in an old cursive style. The parchment read:

What you seek will not be found

In a room far underground

Past campsites with their roasting meat

From hostile gazes must not retreat

The ancient one must take his seat

The working must be complete

The inner fire must be stoked

The ancient trickster must be invoked

I sat for some time staring at the parchment in disbelief. I could make no sense of it and concluded that I must still be dreaming the fantastic dream that has haunted me since I was a child. Trickster? I wish he would appear and show me what I’m missing; what I’m to do with my remaining time. I expected to wake at any moment to the feeling of impending doom, but instead remained seated at the old table in the dimly lit records hall, staring in disbelief at the old parchment before me.

The bright morning sun nearly blinded me as I stepped out of the courthouse. I felt completely detached and very confused. It was as though worlds had collided; like two things that should never meet have fused into one experience. The final thread broke when a homeless man sitting on the courthouse steps asked me for my spare change. I took a dollar bill from my pocket and handed it to the unkempt man. He was very grateful and said, Thank you, sir. Don’t let their gazes discourage you. You must wake the sleeping giant.

I walked back to the office in disbelief, feeling like I was in a drunken stupor. The people I passed along the sidewalk had the same glint in their eyes that I had seen in the wild dream the night before. An elderly woman grabbed my arm as I walked past and said, Time is of the essence, dear. I knew this would be the start of something I had been preparing for my entire life.

My boss was more confused than me when I walked in and told him that I would need to take some time off and formally requested a leave of absence. I didn’t explain in great detail. I didn’t know the details. What I did know was that I was now at a crucial point in my life where it was necessary to take stock and discover what I was to do with my remaining time on this ball of dirt and rock. One thing I was certain of was that events were now unfolding that I couldn’t have fathomed in my wildest dreams. I