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Nemesss.Sys Excerpts
A Map of Destiny™
Bridging the Chasm between the Injustices of your Life...
and the validation of your Dreams...
Bridging the Chasm between the Injustices of your Life...
and the validation of your Dreams...
| Nemesss.Sys is the exclusive property of Michael K. Miller. The book, CD's, and license to play Nemesss.Sys are forthcoming. Email: Michael@Nemesss-sys.com for details and updates. Nemesss.Sys is a member of the Millennium Suites Group. All Rights Reserved. Copyright Millennium Suites, LLC 2004-2008 Music credit: Bourne Supremacy, "Gathering Data," Hollywood Studio Symphony, John Powell composer Be honorable and respect copyrights - for remember: GOD KNOWS WHERE YOU LIVE (Revelation 2:12-13)... |
Shadows in the Cave
On a long narrow plateau atop the ridge crest, Allyce sat in front of the flickering fire.
She gazed into the multicolored smoke rising in twisting opaque cords, diffusing into the slate
twilight. Muted Rorschach patterns, the colors of blazing fall leaves and smoldering
summer moss, caressed the lines and curves of her sweat- and mud-stained
calico top.
Beyond the flames, fire-flies sparked in the dark branches of thorn trees
and oaks banked left and right on both sides of the ridge crest as far as she
could see. A cacophony of crickets and cicadas rose and fell from the surrounding
prickly underbrush. Far away, in a stand of unseen oaks, an owl marked Time’s
momentum into night.
Behind Allyce, the fire’s quavering light dimly lit the hollow darkness of a
cave’s mouth. Centered at the mouth and receding back into the cave, the deeper
darkness of her larger-than-life shadow loomed.
She had been exhausted from her long afternoon hike through the woods and
backcountry. But with the darkness closing in on her, she had chanced upon this
place of perfect peace and calm. She had plopped down into the leaves, thrown off
her duffle, and un-rolled her sleeping bag. Quickly gathering sticks and branches,
she had fashioned a makeshift campfire with close-at-hand leaves and moss, and set her
creation ablaze.
She had needed this time away from the frenetic office and her hectic schedule: rest and
recovery. Just her wandering thoughts and her immersion in Nature competed for her attention
now. Solitude. Relief. Peace.
Yet, even as Allyce swooned in this nurturing lullaby, the unstoppable movement of Time
and place, of Change, visibly manifested itself. Far back within the cave’s recesses, an almost
imperceptible point of light emerged.
Softly humming, Allyce failed to notice the pinpoint’s appearance and growing presence.
Soon it swelled from a dot, to a small sphere, and then an early, rising moon. Allyce, still
transfixed by the mix of ascending smoke and the descending darkness, was oblivious to its
approach.
As the light assumed a sound of rustling leaves, she started. Exponentially, the light’s
sound exploded into a thundering crescendo and Allyce spun around to gaze into its
mesmerizing beam. Then, it was on her and through her.
“What the hell was that, Charlie?,” the engineer yelled, dodging the bright red spray
whizzing past the window of Old Number 8's engine's cab.
“Damned if I know, Wes,” the fireman snapped as he concentrated on shoveling coal into
the firebox.
“Mmm, probably a random deer...didn't know we still make this run once in a blue moon
and got on the tracks,” Wes muttered.
And the train rushed on through the night – toward its own rendezvous with a stand of
unseen oaks and the owl marking Time.
With the rhythmic clickety-clack simplicity of the engine’s embrace on the rusty rails, Charlie
pondered the splattered life form for about a mile or so. Then, as mental meltdown threatened
under the steady glare from the firebox, his mind wandered.
Cooling down in a natural segue for him, he thought of the gruesome and bloody hand
he’d kibitzed with Wes at the Gored Boar Bridge Grotto the preceding evening.
…
East was Ivan Idiov aka Dostoyevsky, the Lesser. His nickname came from a self-
proclaimed ability to detect any Crime his partner committed and his willingness to mete out
verbal Punishment. Ivan’s partner had another nom de guerre for Ivan which too was
attributable to Dostoyevsky: The Idiot.
On the preceding board, Wy had kept the vulnerable opponents out of 3NT by aggressively
raising Ivan’s heart overcall. The opponents had bid on to an unmakeable 4C contract and were
headed for a sure zero when Ivan decided to bid 4H. He later said Wy’s “raise” in competition
was justification for him to take an additional bid and push to game on his minimum, featureless
hand. Ivan had been doubled and gone for 300. Even that would become a good score with
several other pairs bidding to, and making 3NT as the evening went on. Ivan, of course, failed
to comprehend the significance of this and was still fuming that he only wanted “to bid the
hands correctly.”
Still beating a horse long since dead, Ivan’s attention was not on this, the next hand and
he tumbled into a deep, dark hole blankly passing 1DX instead of redoubling for runout.
Minus 1,400 points later – the opponents
screwed up and Ivan managed to scramble
two tricks, Ivan groused it wasn’t his fault
he was playing the same suit in which the
opponents had a small slam [!].
"What you did. On that other board.
It is blocking me from thinking.
Clearly it is blocking me. Just bid
your cards. Don’t picturize.
Don’t think on my hand or the others.
I do that. I will do all. This is no fun."
Moving for the next round, Wy mentally
scratched away a little more of the darkness
masking the cave of his partnership with Idiov.
The small dot of doubt and realization Wy had
noted to Charlie after his previous game with
Ivan now had swollen beyond the size of a
rising moon.
Charlie knew Wy had known “what” he
must do, and “why,” for some time, but he
had procrastinated – postponing the
inevitable. The end of yesterday’s Goared
Boar session had presented itself as “when.”
____________________
Moral 1
At the bridge table, as in Life, know “where” you are at all times. Misapprehending approaching danger
can be fatal. Conduct continuous 360° scans for rapidly approaching bright lights accompanied by the
sound of thunder.
Moral 2
No partner is worth enduring verbal abuse – especially pigheaded, stupid abuse. Never try to teach a
pig to dance: it confuses the pig and it wastes your time trying to keep your shoes shined.
Corollary
Never tap dance in pig excrement.
Shadows of reality can be disorienting and misleading – in Bridge and in Life.
Read Plato: "The Allegory of the Cave," The Republic , Book VII.
On a long narrow plateau atop the ridge crest, Allyce sat in front of the flickering fire.
She gazed into the multicolored smoke rising in twisting opaque cords, diffusing into the slate
twilight. Muted Rorschach patterns, the colors of blazing fall leaves and smoldering
summer moss, caressed the lines and curves of her sweat- and mud-stained
calico top.
Beyond the flames, fire-flies sparked in the dark branches of thorn trees
and oaks banked left and right on both sides of the ridge crest as far as she
could see. A cacophony of crickets and cicadas rose and fell from the surrounding
prickly underbrush. Far away, in a stand of unseen oaks, an owl marked Time’s
momentum into night.
Behind Allyce, the fire’s quavering light dimly lit the hollow darkness of a
cave’s mouth. Centered at the mouth and receding back into the cave, the deeper
darkness of her larger-than-life shadow loomed.
She had been exhausted from her long afternoon hike through the woods and
backcountry. But with the darkness closing in on her, she had chanced upon this
place of perfect peace and calm. She had plopped down into the leaves, thrown off
her duffle, and un-rolled her sleeping bag. Quickly gathering sticks and branches,
she had fashioned a makeshift campfire with close-at-hand leaves and moss, and set her
creation ablaze.
She had needed this time away from the frenetic office and her hectic schedule: rest and
recovery. Just her wandering thoughts and her immersion in Nature competed for her attention
now. Solitude. Relief. Peace.
Yet, even as Allyce swooned in this nurturing lullaby, the unstoppable movement of Time
and place, of Change, visibly manifested itself. Far back within the cave’s recesses, an almost
imperceptible point of light emerged.
Softly humming, Allyce failed to notice the pinpoint’s appearance and growing presence.
Soon it swelled from a dot, to a small sphere, and then an early, rising moon. Allyce, still
transfixed by the mix of ascending smoke and the descending darkness, was oblivious to its
approach.
As the light assumed a sound of rustling leaves, she started. Exponentially, the light’s
sound exploded into a thundering crescendo and Allyce spun around to gaze into its
mesmerizing beam. Then, it was on her and through her.
“What the hell was that, Charlie?,” the engineer yelled, dodging the bright red spray
whizzing past the window of Old Number 8's engine's cab.
“Damned if I know, Wes,” the fireman snapped as he concentrated on shoveling coal into
the firebox.
“Mmm, probably a random deer...didn't know we still make this run once in a blue moon
and got on the tracks,” Wes muttered.
And the train rushed on through the night – toward its own rendezvous with a stand of
unseen oaks and the owl marking Time.
With the rhythmic clickety-clack simplicity of the engine’s embrace on the rusty rails, Charlie
pondered the splattered life form for about a mile or so. Then, as mental meltdown threatened
under the steady glare from the firebox, his mind wandered.
Cooling down in a natural segue for him, he thought of the gruesome and bloody hand
he’d kibitzed with Wes at the Gored Boar Bridge Grotto the preceding evening.
…
East was Ivan Idiov aka Dostoyevsky, the Lesser. His nickname came from a self-
proclaimed ability to detect any Crime his partner committed and his willingness to mete out
verbal Punishment. Ivan’s partner had another nom de guerre for Ivan which too was
attributable to Dostoyevsky: The Idiot.
On the preceding board, Wy had kept the vulnerable opponents out of 3NT by aggressively
raising Ivan’s heart overcall. The opponents had bid on to an unmakeable 4C contract and were
headed for a sure zero when Ivan decided to bid 4H. He later said Wy’s “raise” in competition
was justification for him to take an additional bid and push to game on his minimum, featureless
hand. Ivan had been doubled and gone for 300. Even that would become a good score with
several other pairs bidding to, and making 3NT as the evening went on. Ivan, of course, failed
to comprehend the significance of this and was still fuming that he only wanted “to bid the
hands correctly.”
Still beating a horse long since dead, Ivan’s attention was not on this, the next hand and
he tumbled into a deep, dark hole blankly passing 1DX instead of redoubling for runout.
Minus 1,400 points later – the opponents
screwed up and Ivan managed to scramble
two tricks, Ivan groused it wasn’t his fault
he was playing the same suit in which the
opponents had a small slam [!].
"What you did. On that other board.
It is blocking me from thinking.
Clearly it is blocking me. Just bid
your cards. Don’t picturize.
Don’t think on my hand or the others.
I do that. I will do all. This is no fun."
Moving for the next round, Wy mentally
scratched away a little more of the darkness
masking the cave of his partnership with Idiov.
The small dot of doubt and realization Wy had
noted to Charlie after his previous game with
Ivan now had swollen beyond the size of a
rising moon.
Charlie knew Wy had known “what” he
must do, and “why,” for some time, but he
had procrastinated – postponing the
inevitable. The end of yesterday’s Goared
Boar session had presented itself as “when.”
____________________
Moral 1
At the bridge table, as in Life, know “where” you are at all times. Misapprehending approaching danger
can be fatal. Conduct continuous 360° scans for rapidly approaching bright lights accompanied by the
sound of thunder.
Moral 2
No partner is worth enduring verbal abuse – especially pigheaded, stupid abuse. Never try to teach a
pig to dance: it confuses the pig and it wastes your time trying to keep your shoes shined.
Corollary
Never tap dance in pig excrement.
Shadows of reality can be disorienting and misleading – in Bridge and in Life.
Read Plato: "The Allegory of the Cave," The Republic , Book VII.
Bridge, as Life, is a loosely bound collection
of legend, myth, and current realities...
Drawing on this library of experience and living,
"Shadows in the Cave" is one of those stories.
[from Chapter IX
"Gatekeeper's Trove - Stories of Life, Love, and NemesssSys"]
of legend, myth, and current realities...
Drawing on this library of experience and living,
"Shadows in the Cave" is one of those stories.
[from Chapter IX
"Gatekeeper's Trove - Stories of Life, Love, and NemesssSys"]
Nemesss.Sys™
| At the bridge table, as in Life, know 'where' you are at all times. Misapprehending approaching danger can be fatal. |