This Tale Continues....

So, Easter in Jerusalem was cancelled. Time was different here. It was really a typical sign of the times. Democracy was failing, freedoms were falling. This tale required unique attention, as the battle ahead threatened all life with total annihilation.

Hexual One was gathering his scarily ordinary human tribes. They allowed their characters to absorb the dark side of midnight. Conflicts swirled around hot spots on the never tranquil planet. No one on Earth could predict the hour or day for anything. Not one soul alive could see into the murky mists of their crystal ball ,the future, the past.

No one would ever win, no one would ever come second. The lessons of these years of armed conflict had not taught these humans even one benefit about their own futility. No one could say how this sordid tale would end for any human tribe.

Was it to be Armageddon, or anarchy, with riot police in every capital city? Perhaps climate change, and rising planetary temperatures and sea levels would drown the billions of humans living on global flood plains. That might make peace, a fragment on humanity might survive, to a new day on Earth. Would the status quo linger on, creating humanitarian disasters, refugees and migration patterns, on the shifting sands of scarily ordinary people?

Maybe the human race could head along, trekking to the stars, a new focus to unite them. Peace, overcoming the challenges together, settling on far flung planets, a quest into the universe. It would be a novel way to run capitalism. No more wars.

Hexual One was old, ancient. His generals were veterans, scarred, but no longer scared. They enjoyed playing soldiers, like they had in their nursery. They had developed their army aims by playing war games with tin soldiers. Only nowadays, the generals of the human tribes were playing military exercises with someone's sons, brothers, sweethearts. Or their female counterparts, women were now also front line troops.

Every one of the participants seemed resigned to their doom. There were few objections. It was regarded as a normal part of the triumphs and tragedies of the tribes. Once in a while, a diplomatic ceasefire was declared. Boundaries were redrawn, the civilian living dead had to bury the dead, and get on with the living.

In the failing world of democratic freedoms, there were protests, peaceniks, and clashes with police enforcers. Arrests, incarcerations, records. The dark clouds soon regathered. Their military troops would wake up, had minimal showers, forded a stream in a march or a tank, then raped, pillaged and plundered. The lusty soldiers would make evening camp, slaughter a steer, have a BBQ, drink some grog. After singing some drunken dirty ditties, they collapsed into a sleep coma, again with minimal showers. Same old, different day.

This was military campaigning. It was old as the human tribes. At least the human race was not inbred, as the armed soldiers shared their DNA across the planet. Motile and fertile little lot. All readers are aware of the basic human instinct for nooky, so fun. Sort of satisfying. Men!

Unfortunately, while the dark side of midnight continues, the weapons are still being developed. Latest reports showed that advancing the munitions industry had upgraded multiple ways of demolishing all scarily ordinary humans, on any side of any political fence. The darkness of Hexual One aimed to control liberty, never to collaborate.

How far would democracy venture to protect itself? No one quite wanted to push that envelope in time. This was a call to arms, and there was a response. Up to the plate stepped Hooley Dooley. She was a silent magician, disguised in her human format as a fat swami. She had been nominated to be the champion show pony for free thinkers.

Hooley Dooley descended from the upper room, where summer lands were peaceful. Hooley Dooley kept silent, determined to align her goals with those of God. Her God was the divine, the big guy upstairs. We can all picture Him as a grey bearded patriarch, sitting there on His throne, with a large bag of popcorn. God does gaze fondly at His chosen ones, acknowledging we are all mere mortals, all variants of imperfect innovations and free thoughts.

God and His love are ancient, charismatic, eerie, mysterious. He had created Hooley Dooley to be a healer, strong, full of gifts, as well as determination. Acting as normal, Hooley Dooley stood on a metaphysical hill above the globe, not far away at all.

Looking to all intents and purposes like the fat swami she actually was, she raised her hands to greet the sun, life giver. She was casting a vast thrall over all the gathering tribes of Hexual One. Not much was ever spoken. Both team leaders were old, more ancient than any planet, sent by God.

God was sitting upstairs still, secretly barracking for Hooley Dooley, praying for peace. She was taking on Hexual One's evil, misguided incantations. Battles continued, ebbing, and flowing. Hooley Dooley emitted a happy glow, she was ready for the challenge.

The good guys, her peace warriors, gave themselves, believing in defending freedoms, rights, choices. It was one way to demolish all the destructive, repressive isms, finally.

It really took a collaborative effort, crafting positive benefits for changing whole societies in the future. New norms could be achieved, harnessing realistic alternatives to blowing the ordinary humans to smithereens, the foundation of the dwindling of the global economy.

Armed conflict needed to be deleted, bad habit of humanity. The battles roared and clashed. Hooley Dooley's hopes lay in the young ones. They were integrated into their own global networks, had to solve this vast mess their own way.

All the free thinkers joined their thoughts, their deeds, their problem-solving united. Hooley Dooley glowed, as the sun kept rising anyway. She never threw in the towel. When she was tempted to, God threw it back at her, saying. "Well done, you good and loyal servant of peace and love."

God ate his popcorn, observing billions of His chosen people. Extremists planned massacres at church services, but the good guys somehow reconciled the faiths. Let bygones be bygones, O Humans. Lots of people struggle.

Hooley Dooley praised her battlers. Hexual One shriveled day by day. The fat swami never said a word. Did Hooley Dooley ever achieve true Peace on Earth? This tale continues to be told, if ever there is an ending. Look out, incoming!