2 Deaths Per Second

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An example of progression literature at its simplest stage; Jesus Christ as a Timewalker whose interventions are not noticed in a world dark with evil

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Two Deaths per Second
2 DEATHS PER SECOND OCCUR, AND 4. 5 PEOPLE ARE BORN EACH SECOND. SIX MILLION PEOPLE ARE ADDED EACH MONTH TO THE POPULATION, BEYOND THE 56 MILLION WHO DIE EACH YEAR. (World Population Clock, Dec. 2009)

“Don’t kill yourself!” the Timewalker pleaded. The young man had shoved a pistol into his mouth by the time the Timewalker reached him. “If you pull the trigger,” the Timewalker said, “your death will cause 59 other people to die before they should.” “Sounds fine to me,” the young man said. “The world is overpopulated anyway.” He smiled (a haggard, helpless, hopeless smile) and pulled the trigger. The Timewalker was splashed with the blood that sprayed out: it put glittering crimson dots across his flesh and across the pure white robe he wore. A cackle of evil laughter resonated from the black hole into which the small, blue orb of the young suicide victim’s soul was to be dragged. Getting the victim out again would require considerable time and effort, though such words cannot describe the reality of the task. For the Timewalker, neither time nor effort equated what occurred when the battle for a soul commenced there: rather, it was a rolling out of a plain, upon which time rested in the vortex of a Möbius function, and where purity of will was matched against random evil.

The world had gone askew with overbirths: careless matings and breeding and children being produced without a thought to the future, and in secret, governments had agreed to reduce the populations of least value through the use of vaccines, viruses, manufactured famines, genetically altered food supplies, and genocide by attrition. War was secretly funded between low-class nations, with military-industrial cooperation. Chemtrails laced with birth control hormones traced their patterns across the polluted skies of the largest and poorest cities, and tranquilizers blessed the water supplies going to dissident areas in countries needing a stable (even though possibly cruel) government. Occasionally, a pest of a politician went down in a plane, but in general, the unwashed masses were the main targets.

Looking down from heaven, the cries of the helpless reached the ears of the Lord of the Sabaoth – the great I Am, maker of all physical, non-physical, and holograph existences, and the generous Savior of Worlds. For when He created, He had to create both lesser and greater, lest uniformity reign as do numbers, but from such a decision sprang evil, ambitions, and mischief of all kinds. “I have made, and I will bear,” He said, but the burden even for the great Timewalker was a heavy one. The most corrupt of the worlds had required His personal intervention, including the shedding of physical blood, sweat and tears, to the extent that He died on that

planet’s surface. His act of love had revived hope and created certain instances of love and heroic devotion to those who learned of it, but eventually, Faith in His goodness faded away because the evil, pain, suffering and death on that world overshadowed every act of kindness, love, generosity and compassion. Despite the constant attention of angels, and His own continual and personal efforts, the Creator in his Timewalker mode was limited by His own mathematical laws that governed physical matter. Even He could not make a circle into a triangle and still have it be a circle. When two people die every second, and four more are born to take their place every second, what could be done by Him in Real Time was rarely seen or noted, and when it was, it was attributed to some freak accident or “luck.” There was no longer any belief in Jesus Christ. He had become a legend.

Demons and devils feed off souls, multiplying like lice on a plant: because they are soul-less, they can divide like amoeba, sucking the life-forces from the infected souls upon which they spend time, much as do tourists on a luxury cruiser. Only, they hate it when the cruiser comes to port, and Authority shows up.

Once the Lord Went Down with two Destroying Angels to see if the cries He heard about the evil of Sodom and Gomorrah were as bad as He had been told. Not that He could not instantly discern all of it, but He wanted to prove to his human creation that He heard, that He deliberated, before releasing wrath, that He could be moved to compassion, to those who trusted in Him over idols of stone. And so “God’s friend,” Abraham was allowed to prevail upon Him, and Abraham did so, for his brother Lot and his family lived in one of those cities slated for destruction. Abraham pleaded, as any good sheep trader might. Maybe there were 50 good folk there—would You spare the city for 40 good souls? How about 20? How about 10? Lot and his wife, at least four children and their mates—that equaled 10 people right there. But all that the Destroying Angels could remove from that city were Lot, his wife, and two virgin daughters. Lot’s wife, however, ‘looked back” –a metaphor for changing her mind—and ended up dying in the conflagration. Her body ‘turned into a pillar of salt’ – we can see what happened to those entombed by ashes at Pompeii -- and only three escaped annihilation. That was way back when. When one city at a time could be judged fairly. But now, all the world was entangled in webs of evil. Billions of people lived and died shoulder to shoulder. Masses behaved as cattle or as social insects when in big crowds, and worse, they were taught nopt to be individuals, or to think for themselves, but to cooperate and to be ‘team players.’ That meant no ‘deviant thinking,’ such as asking questions about Why Am I Here, or Is There a God. The questions to be asked were How can I Have More Fun? And How Can I Be Safe and Secure in an Unsafe World? How can I Become Rich, Powerful, and Popular?

The best of humankind were pummeled daily with so many evil messages that they, themselves, could no longer see where to step to keep their feet clean. When they prayed, they prayed with little hope of anything changing. Their religious leaders were sometimes the richest of all, corrupt through and through. Knowing all, the Lord of Hosts nevertheless decided to go down, as He had done in Abraham’s time, to appear before the most righteous of those remaining on the poor, befuddled, corrupted world called Earth -- that place where He had died a most loathsome and agonized death, in an attempt to force a shaft of light into that realm of darkness. That light, which burnt brightly for awhile, was now almost extinguished, and though the Signs that He would Come Again were beginning to appear, science, other religions, and political pundits had declared to the population of the world that Jesus Christ perhaps had never existed, and if He did, He had been little more than a rebel, or a deluded trickster.

Now He stood looking at the crumpled body of the young man who’d killed himself. The Lord had been wearing a white robe, but now he changed instantly into a 21st century white suit, in the blink of an eye. He had at the same instant caught the Spirit of the young man before it had escaped into the oblivion awaiting it, breathing it back into the fallen body, and immediately, thereby, restoring the young man to life. Every blood cell –red, white, T-cell, platelet—slammed forcibly back into the throat and tongue and windpipe and muscles, all of which instantly received the cells, then locked into the position in which they had been the nanosecond before they’d been blown to Kingdom Come. The young man found himself rising to his feet, his revolver gone. His head ached, and it took a moment for him to focus his eyes. Before him stood that Man, only a little older than himself, who had suddenly appeared out of nowhere, just as he’d decided to kill himself. “My gun!” he blurted out. “How did you do that?” To the young man, one moment, the gun was in his mouth and he was pulling the trigger, and in the next moment, the revolver was missing, and he was a bit unsteady on his feet, with a slight headache. The Lord had vaporized the weapon, and its molecules had instantly become part of the gray, polluted sky overhead. Ironically, the smell of gunpowder was still in the air. Now the Lord reached out his hand and steadied the young man, who had suddenly realized that the Being standing before him was occasionally flashing like lightning—that made him speechless-- a Deer in Headlights. “Don’t kill yourself,” the Lord said. “If you do, 64 people may die.” “You—you said 59-- before—“ the other said, in his head, unable to speak the words aloud. “It’s more every minute,” the Lord explained. “You stopped me from killing myself,” the young man went on, without words. “I thought I had the right to decide when I should die.” “You’ve been taught that I’m no longer in charge of that matter,” the Lord said.

“Well, you haven’t been around much,” the young man said. “Your competition sure has done a great job of taking over the neighborhood.” “The opposition has always owned this world,” the Timewalker admitted. “I came here to show you how to get to My Kingdom.” “I am awed by you,” the young man admitted, “but you could be my imagination.” “Then you’ve imagined that I dissolved your revolver,” the Timewalker told him. The young man knew the Being before him could not lie. “Why did you bother with somebody like me?” the young man asked, feeling amazingly shy. The light and beauty that surrounded the Timewalker kept slowly growing, until now he could hardly see the face of the Lord for all the light streaming from it. “Because you are not a pet,” the Lord replied, “I give you the dignity of real dangers, real trials. I must allow you to walk through valleys of death, and learn for yourself to want the Light of the World. Some only pass through this Vale of Tears on their way directly to My Kingdom. Others are here for a long time, to learn, or to guide – but all who hear my voice will find the gate to truth, and eternal life.” “Not good enough!” the young man said, aloud, angrily. “I called out to You, with all my heart, and You weren’t there for me!” “Well, I’m here, now,” the Lord told him, and, reaching out his arms, he embraced the young man with such warmth, affection and love that the other could scarcely breathe or think. “I will always be there, even if you think I’m not.” The young man knew it was true. It was enough, the young man knew, to keep him going on the straight and narrow for the rest of his life. At that moment, two thugs turned into the alley where the Lord stood embracing the young man. “Well, look at the two queers!” one yelled. They jumped upon the Lord from behind, and upon the young man the great Lord had been hugging, and, drawing their weapons, they began pumping bullets into them. The young man fell, mortally wounded, to the ground, his very last sight that of the Lord’s eyes, filling with tears, looking tenderly down upon him as he gasped his last. “Now it is time to die,” the Timewalker said, “and by doing so, you will save 75 lives. Welcome into my Kingdom, my Son!” The Timewalker turned, lightning flashing through the holes that the bullets had burned through his body. His muscles bulged, his eyes flared with anger, his face was full of fierce and potent wrath. The two thugs dropped their revolvers and fell backwards. “Police!” the Timewalker cried out. “Police!” As he shouted, he vanished. A squad car drove up and stopped. Two puzzled uniformed policemen stepped from their vehicle and immediately handcuffed the thugs. As they called for backup, and checked the body of the victim, their prisoners without resistance got into the squad car, trembling head to foot. The Timewalker stood, invisible, considering that the young man’s death meant life in prison without parole for two men who would have gone on to kill 75 more people, before they would be in the right place again, to be apprehended, had the young man died before they could murder him.

But all the newspapers would say, of course, that a college student had been shot down, in his prime, by two members of a local gang. And where was God?.... the people reading the pages might ask that question…and sigh…… As for the Timewalker, his constant treks through time never interfered with his constant presence in His Heaven, for time never existed there. It was as if the Master of the Universe had stepped into a stream of electrons or photons, or into the groove of a vinyl record, or into the innards of a computer chip. He would emerge at the same moment of ‘time’ that he entered— less than a nanosecond—and in that time would have walked through billions of years of Time, in all the corners and alleys and highways of Creation. For, as He told Abraham, He would go down, to see if the cry that He had heard was true. And as He walked through palaces and farms and hospitals and streets, He resolved to keep on bearing – keep on carrying -- the consequences of What God Hath Wrought, until the Time came to stand on the Mount of Olives, showing the signs of the nails in his hands and feet, as earthquakes split the Holy City’s mountain in half, and in the cleft darkness, all eyes, at last, would see the Son.

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