Chapter 7 ended as follows:

Health, wealth, safety and peace.

For this to happen all wars must cease.

That’s just one thing, this law will do.

Read it now, this gift for you.


(The fundamental natural law of protection)


No person, group of persons, or government, shall initiate force, threat of force, or fraud, against any individual’s self, property, or contract.


Force is morally and legally justified only for protection from those who violate Article One.


No exceptions shall exist for Articles One and Two.

Chapter 8 begins…

When Craigniton finished his mission statement put to rhyme, he told everyone that they would find a thick sheet of gold foil — either flat or rolled up – in an envelope attached to the under-carriage of each chair. A flat sheet suggested that the crew member stay at his or her work station. Roll-ups suggested that these crew members move out into the main staging area, and think about what happened to “Chicken Little”. Every single person was quite content either way, because engraved into the gold was the refiner’s certification of 99.99% purity, and a weight of 16 ounces.

As CRAIGNITON vanished from view, sure enough, hundreds of balloons – a multitude of colors glowing with brilliant iridescence — erupted out of the vaulted ceiling high overhead, floating down through the rafters into the eager hands of the jubilant crowd. Every balloon came with another message written around its squeaky tight mid-section: “Hit me hard or tap me light, if you use your foil, you’ve done it right.”

Instead of the expected “pop,” each balloon exuded a nearly inaudible hiss, as it first sagged, doubled over, and then, as the last bit of gas escaped, as if chasing the great Craigniton, it, too, simply vanished; leaving behind a fragrance all agreed they had never smelled before, but would love to again – and a card with a letter and number on it. It wasn’t long before the workers noticed that the same arrangement of letters and numbers in a rainbow of twinkly lights now adorned the studio floor. Put A1 and B2 together, and you have two of the 250 standing next to each other. In such a manner, this alpha-numeric solution was deployed without explanation.

An unknowing outside observer might view the trusting crew members scurrying into the spots designated on their cards, as a large group of passengers getting ready to board a departing plane. Yet these faithful employees gave little thought as to the “why” of it, because they were fully engaged in the game-like fun of it. Once everyone was in position, the lights gave it one last twinkle, and were gone.

…to be replaced by a shrill whistle and the holographic image of the trim, vivacious gal blowing it – overhead — where Craigniton’s image had appeared. A close-up view of her face confirmed how well-matched the bubbly tones and breathtaking features, as she asked all the folks now standing in rows to simply follow the arrows each time they heard her whistle. The first of the following 250 high-pitched cues sent each of those standing to a work station occupied by a comrade intently watching the proceedings. Thusly paired, everyone exchanged names, hugs, job descriptions…while Patty Page’s “Tennessee Waltz,” Debby Reynold’s “Wish I knew,” Doris Day’s “What Will Be, Will Be,” and other nostalgic melodies floated softly amidst the gala gathering.

By the time #250 rolled around, the fourth hour had already flown by – but none let fatigue keep them from enjoying the royal feast that followed…or from wondering if their whistle blowing drill sergeant was “THE ONE.” Amidst such speculation there was nary a groan in the house when our gal from above demurely informed that she would be coordinating the second half of the hug fest on the morrow. After all, those in line still had each other to greet and meet, as did those situated in their work areas.

Despite the added charm of our mysterious young maiden, the regimentation would have been well-received anyway, because oneness ruled here. By enabling all the studio crewmen an opportunity to meet each other close up (eye-to-eye and body-to-body), and to learn first-hand what everyone else was doing, strengthened that shared sense of being one. Those who were notoriously self-conscious and uncomfortable under similar circumstances found even the hugging to be extraordinarily easy.

Many felt that Master Key sits and silences – recommended, demonstrated, and embraced by most as a daily ritual — with the physical, mental, emotional, spiritual clarity resulting – were responsible for this first-in-a-lifetime ability to connect so intimately.


As CRAIGNITON stood and surveyed the bubbling activity down below, it was as if he had hopped onto a time machine and transported back a month to when he, Craignito, then, and Subucon, now, first made their secret descent into WWS: World Within Studio.

Now, however, he stood alone, in an alcove specially built just for him. From this perch he could see everyone down below, and everyone down below could see him, if they had cause to look. However, at this moment, his entry was completely unnoticed by everyone down below. This sudden flurry of activity signified that the moment they had been waiting for, preparing for, longing for, would be soon. As it turns out, three of the four weeks CRANITON lay in what appeared to be suspended animation, were spent in similar repose by the entire WWS crew — in silence, looking within to make sure what they were about to do — each with their own essential role – no matter how seemingly big or small it might appear – would be handled as if the world itself depended upon it. They had all made the journey deep into the world within, found their unique gifts, and were absolutely grateful for the connection made through their subconscious to the Universal Mind. Such joyful bliss would have been contagious; but in this group, it didn’t need to be, because everyone had already caught the contagion. Overwhelming waves of joyful wonder greeted each worker as he or she took his or her first step onto the radiant studio floor that day. The harmony of oneness instantly filled each mind, heart, and soul; erasing any lingering trace of lack, limitation, disease, danger, difficulty or whatever trouble might be frightfully hanging on – for very few chunks of what was once solid cement had managed to make it this far.

So incredible were the waves of love, of bliss, of joy, they were suddenly, serenely transformed into a perfusion of harmonious sounds and colors and tastes and smells and delicious tingling excitement, as CRAGNITON’s presence took full advantage of the “state of the art” Obi-Wan Kenobi HD holographic projection the studio had prepared for this occasion; but far more significant the diamond crisp concert-hall audio designed to capture every vibratory nuance of the speaker’s voice empowered CRAIGNITON’S first word: “WELCOME!

No words can come close to describing the effect that an entire month in direct contact with the Universal can do, did do, to the way this single word was delivered — but no one missed a single syllable. Everyone had instantly stopped what they were doing, as all heads, and all eyes turned in complete unison, as if one, to the empty space before CRAIGNITON’S projection had even appeared to fill it. As difficult as it might be to find factual basis for such a supernatural display of unrehearsed behavior, the fact that it did occur is undeniable — recorded for all eternity by the best of the best devices in existance, and the sworn testimony of the 500+ in attendance that glorious day (but requests for such testimony — not a single one).

This welcome was followed by another, then another, and another…Welcome John Lancaster, welcome Betty Baumgardner, welcome Pete Rosenthal, as, on and on, around the room he went.

When asked what seemed special about CRAIGNITON’S address, some of those answering said there was excitement, joy, love, faith, hope, in the musical tones of his voice – even though the deep baritone that was recorded does not sound musical in the slightest; some said it was, clear, decisive, calm, peaceful, deliberate, sustained in thought, unwavering, confident; a few thought it was laughingly funny, while others completely serious; all agreed it was warm, friendly, comfortable – as if you’d known him your entire life; some were amazed to feel their backaches disappearing as he spoke, others their headaches disappearing — until they were gone…

After CRAIGNITON had welcomed every person by first and last time, including their particular role – completely from memory without any sign of technological assistance, and after letting all his great crew know how humbled and privileged and grateful he was for the honor of leading what was to come, everyone knew by the way he said what he did, that it wasn’t just CRAIGNITON speaking to them, it was the Universal – and this is what was said…


How many of you remember Anthony Perkins chilling portrayal of both Norman Bates, the inn keeper at the Bates Motel, and his long-dead grandmother, in the Alfred Hitchcock’s horrifyingly graphic thriller, Psycho? If you saw it in 1960 when it first hit the silver screen, then you may also remember Paul Newman’s wife, Joanne Woodward, starring in the true story, turned book, made movie, The Three Faces of Eve. Mrs. Woodward actually played three different women — the original, timid and self-effacing Eve, (the one her mom gave birth to… not Adam’s playmate in the garden of Eden), Eve White, and two more – the wild, fun-loving Eve Black, who is the first visitor to arrive, and the relatively stable Jane, who is the last on the scene. This is a classic case of what’s called MPD – Multiple Personality Disorder.

Since The Three Faces of Eve landed in the movie houses 3 years prior to Psycho, and while “Eve” lacked the transgender, age differential of the Bates slash-happy, out-patient trisectomy service, it is not too far-fetched that Mr. Hitchcock may have seen this film. Noticing how Eve Black eventually dominated to destroy Eve White’s marriage and almost kill her daughter, could have fired up his imagination in the direction that three years later he took to another level.

When I set out to write this particular post, talking about aberrant psychology, as I have, was not a consideration. The reason I included it was to make a point, which I will get to in a moment. But for this moment, I’m wondering if you have acknowledged that split personalities do exist, and, like me, have not given them much thought. But as I learn a little more about the brain, the more it fascinates me. Eve (or actually the woman she represented in real life) was of average intelligence that apparently experienced something so traumatic in her childhood (the most common cause of MPD), the split began to occur…until, and this is truly amazing to me, one brain was able to create three entirely different women. As it turns out, these personality changes can have substantial impact on a person’s physiology as well – both plus and minus – so I’ve included a short article on this topic at the bottom of this post.

As you will see when reading this article, some of the physiological effects expressed by one personality and not the other(s) involve both impaired and occasionally better-than-average organ function. Major changes in visual acuity or color perception, left or right handedness, the handling of blood glucose levels, etc., make it obvious which organs are being affected. Radical variations such as these often occur because, as in Eve’s case, each personality can be so different and dominate for such long periods of time (a high percentage of almost an entire lifetime long, if uncorrected).

As much as these changes in organ function can be a boon or a curse to those individuals like Eve experiencing them, they can be a blessing for the rest of us. Once we accept the notion that our moods markedly affect the personality we present to the world, we can also accept the concept that these moods are directly affecting our physiology. Although for a number of other reasons, MKMMA students have learned how to accept and take responsibility for our moods by controlling them. We learn how to be “masters of our emotions.” Scroll VI of Og Mandino’s THE GREATEST SALEMAN IN THE WORLD talks about this “mastery”. The personality-connection is very evident when he points out: “Henceforth I recognize and identify the mystery of moods in all mankind, and in me. From this moment I am prepared to control whatever personality awakes in me each day. I master my moods through positive action and when I master my moods I control my destiny.” (For reasons all MKMMA students are familiar, the word “will” has been removed from this passage.) If any of us hasn’t already done so, we can now add “HAPPY CAMPERS LIVE LONGER” to our MKMMA portfolio.   


Switching from the macroscopic to the microscopic, as MKMMA lessons have a wonderful versatility to do, we recently focused our attention and peered into the realm of physics and some of the dynamics occurring at the sub-atomic level. For instance, borrowing from Fridjof Capra’s work, in one recent lesson, Davene made it clear how everything is in motion, despite how structurally solid and inanimate the object might appear to be. Furthermore, even the most solid of objects are in fact composed almost entirely of empty space. To emphasize this idea, Deepak Chopra points out a particularly small particle, a neutrino, can pass through the entire earth without hitting a single bit of matter.

On the other hand, the energy both inside and outside these whizzing dynamos called electrons suggests that this spaciousness, this emptiness, has much more to it than just nothing. In fact, this nothing has more something than the something has something. Even when the nucleus of the atom takes center stage (that’s where it is, is it not?), the voyage of the neutrino tells us that the nucleus of each atom may be more compact and occupied, filled with protons and neutrons as it is, nonetheless, it too is filled with more space than matter, and sharing that common bond with the electron (as it does, after all), it is the non-matter that matters most.

Many of us old-timers that lived during the days when Walt Disney vied with the Ed Sullivan show for viewers, might remember the animation of a chain reaction that was caused by bringing together two piles of plutonium 239 to create one big pile – a pile mathematically calculated to be large enough to reach critical mass. Critical mass is the amount of highly radioactive, man-made material, plutonium, needed for the chain reaction to occur, and KABOOM! The instant explosion created by the splitting of plutonium into smaller elements this way is called nuclear fission – otherwise known as an atomic bomb. The energy released during this atomic breakdown is a whole lot of something coming from what appears to be nothing – 20,000 tons of TNT – give or take a stick or two, this way or that. 

Metaphorically speaking, (and this is the point I referred to six paragraphs earlier) the way a single personality can sometimes splinter into several reminded me of the splitting of atoms in a nuclear fission reaction. I know, as metaphors go, even MKMMA students might be a teensy bit skeptical. Therefore, rather than linger any longer in this plop, plop, fizz fizz (okay, those of you who watched Mark’s post Week 24 webinar videos, what comes next? Yes, you guessed it), I hope it’s as much of a relief for you, as it is for me…well, before moving on, how about using this same video to have a little more fun? “Where’s the…



Up to this point, I’ve been speaking about things more catabolic than anabolic, more destructive than constructive. So let’s turn towards the friendlier and aim our attention on that which is constructive (right where it should be most of the time anyway). At the atomic level, there is only one process that is an obvious first pick. Survey says: FUSION. A day without fusion, is a whole lot worse than a day without…(right again, orange juice) Why? Because while the next word is identical: “sunshine,” I don’t think it’s too difficult to see (although it would be) that the sun is the “sol” provider. Fusion is how our sun and all the other stars in the Universe produce the energy, the light, without which life as we know it cannot exist. As bombs go (since we did touch on that before blowing by), which is cleaner and more powerful: an atom bomb (relies on fission) or a hydrogen bomb (relies upon fusion)? Even if you aren’t as smart as a fifth grader, you probably know the answer to that one.

The word fusion speaks for itself. It is the combining of two lesser molecules to create one larger molecule that has greater organizational complexity. If this example of “oneness,” as I suggest it is, is responsible for life itself, can any other principle be as vital for us to incorporate into our lives as this one?

In one of my first blog posts, I pointed out what indirectly resulted from what I now realize was the closest thing I’ve ever done to the extended silence exercise we’ve all been exhorted (not assigned) to do. This occurred ~ 1985, while spending 2 days by myself, using Fridjof Capra’s The Tau of Physics, as my primary source, to write a paper on the meaning of life. From this experience I educed the three principles most essential in living my life: ONENESS, LOVE, AND MULTI-PERCEPTUAL VIEWPOINT.  Although MPV has served me well, some re-modeling may be in order, and just waiting for that extended silence I coulda, woulda, shoulda, and will…or was, because oh, what a whiz he was…if you get my drift (God, I hope not). ONENESS and LOVE? You can’t have one without the other.

Metaphorically speaking (oneness, love, fusion, take your pick), this is what happened during the month that Craignito and Subucon, unseen inside Craignito’s body, were laying together – almost as if in a coma. Craignito and Subucon went in – into the silence — partially separate/partially one, and came out – out of the silence – totally one! The mind-meld was successful. Although each knew the presence of the other, the person all attention, all concentration would soon be focused was named neither Craignito nor Subucon. Let there be no confusion. It’s not a bird. It’s not a plane. It’s CRAIGNITON!



Other conditions that can vary from personality to personality include scars, burn marks, cysts, and left- and right-handedness. Visual acuity can differ, and some multiples have to carry two or three different pairs of eyeglasses to accommodate their alternating personalities. One personality can be color-blind and another not, and even eye color can change.

There are cases of women who have two or three menstrual periods each month because each of their subpersonalities has its own cycle.

Speech pathologist Christy Ludlow has found that the voice pattern for each of a multiple’s personalities is different, a feat that requires such a deep physiological change that even the most accomplished actor cannot alter his voice enough to disguise his voice pattern.

One multiple, admitted to a hospital for diabetes, baffled her doctors by showing no symptoms when one of her non-diabetic personalities was in control.

There are accounts of epilepsy coming and going with changes in personality, and psychologist Robert A. Phillips, Jr. reports that even tumors can appear and disappear (although he does not specify what kind of tumors).

Multiples also tend to heal faster than normal individuals. For example, there are several cases on record of third-degree burns healing with extraordinary rapidity. Most eerie of all, at least one researcher, Dr. Cornelia Wilbur, the therapist whose pioneering treatment of Sybil Dorsett was portrayed in the book Sybil – is convinced that multiples don’t age as fast as other people.

At a recent symposium on the multiple personality syndrome, a multiple named Cassandra provided a possible answer. Cassandra attributes her own rapid healing ability both to the visualization techniques she practices and to something she calls “parallel processing”.As she explained, even when her alternate personalities are not in control of her body, they are still aware. This enables her to “think” on a multitude of different channels at once, to do things like work on several different term papers simultaneously, and even “sleep” while other personalities prepare her dinner and clean her house.

Hence, whereas normal people only do healing imagery exercises two or three times a day, Cassandra does them around the clock. She even has a subpersonality named Celese who possesses a thorough knowledge of anatomy and physiology, and whose sole function is to spend twenty-four hours a day meditating and imaging the body’s well-being. According to Cassandra, it is this full-time attention to her health that gives her an edge over normal people. Other multiples have made similar claims.



While writing my previous blog post, my “REPORT OF FINDINGS” (the name given to the results returning from the introductory portion of recent blog posts. This area has been specifically set aside for the purpose of building my subscriber list) must have gone well over the 1000-word mark, when I decided to stop and save my ruminations for my next post; i.e., this one. When I went to retrieve what I had written, however, it was gone. Window’s Live Writer doesn’t automatically save drafts like MS Word, or Word Press, does. Live Writer acts like a middle-man in the post writing process, and, apparently, that means everything must be done manually, just as it was in the middle ages. Yet positioned where it is between two technically advanced applications, created a “oneness” sandwich, so to speak – named after the type of bread (small WONDER), rather than the filling in between. Anyone versed and valuing the oneness concept, including the newborn blog post writing novice that I am, is easily lulled into a sense of false “warm fuzzy feeling” security.

Though my intent was to include my RoF with the rest of last week’s post, once I realized my “verbiage gone wild” had spun enough material to become a two-for-one windfall, I set aside my RoF to focus elsewhere. You might say that the wonder of it all took momentary control. Then throw an unhealthy portion of sleep deprivation into the mix, and I began to lose wind of where I was. I began to lose all sense of time, of space, and, finally, consciousness. It’s no wonder (yet we’ve already determined that it is) that I lost it…my Report of Findings.

Although it started out just as if one of those numerous“Oh, s__t!, where did my file go?” mysteries that I’ve successfully dealt with time after time (in sufficient number, I’d say, that my ego was beginning to look and feel as if it had undergone a bonding with Inspector Jacques Clouseau), there has been no trace of outwitting the criminal mind (my computer) this time. My creative gem in its silver setting of white gold (fool’s gold) appears beyond recovery. It certainly hasn’t appeared anywhere around here. If only I had published ASAP…but the twilight preceding lost consciousness clothed different ideas. One of these was to vividly demonstrate how forgetting to play my catch-up card – “to do it now” — meant, instead of me catching up, down caught me instead.

Alas, my previous blog post put my DMP on display. In writing, for all the world to see, it reaffirmed my commitment to finish my book, VOTL – Vampires of the Light. At this juncture, all, and that includes me, must consider such a move to be border-line insanity. “All,” that is, except the Universal Mind, who might see things differently. The UM holds the key, or keys, that reveal this is a time that I must — at the risk of lead poisoning —“bite the bullet.” I must return to the saga that awaits my description of Craignito’s/Subucon’s historic intra-personal mind-meld extraordinaire.

So, what then, am I doing right now? Glad you asked. It does involve bullets… as in bullet points; and although, in this material sense, quite removed from “Check-point Charlie,” unless I accelerate those check marks associated with completion of MKMMA requirements (despite the undesirable nature of doing that), I will soon, too soon, suffer the same fate as that guarded gateway between East and West Berlin: I, too, will be through. So, “if, at first, you don’t succeed, try, try, again.” Meiosis is not absolutely reserved for only human cellular replication. The thought of turning one into two, has been an interwoven theme. Although it did not occur to me that in simply writing about the lost opportunity of taking this action, it might suddenly reappear as a main attraction – as a template for taking action. “Bullet points, bullet points, where can you be?” “Kind sir, kind she, give me a few more minutes. The “Twilight Zone” approaches, and it’s already more than a little, it’s well past the hour of three. That’s the number in knowing how one begets two, is showing how two posts have become what you soon, very soon, surely will see.” 



(Both of our companions are thinking about Meg Ryan and are laughing loudly as we come to the end of another chapter in their JOURNEY to rescue all of humanity.)

                                                                         CHAPTER 3                                                                THERE ARE MONKEYS DOWN BELOW

Though some might describe the space as somewhat cramped, it was, nonetheless, big enough for a very, very long table made of well-polished, mahogany and oak. Running down the center of this table — end-to-end — sat 10 convention-size, evenly-spaced, lead-crystall punch-bowls. A small mountain of the finest, perfectly-ripened, Ecuadorian bananas filled each bowl . Viewed from above, these banana-laden circular objects looked like yellow air-strip landing lights (for that’s precisely what Craignito and Subucon thought they were, drawing closer, as they made their rapid, free-fall descent). You see, some 15-20 minutes had passed – for that’s how long it seemed – since our courageous duo had taken their leap of faith that fell just short enough to really test that faith. It had resulted in what was turning out to be the longest ride of their lives – a ride down the rabbit hole.

Just prior to making what would turn out to be a remarkably soft landing, each of the aforementioned bowls underwent another miraculous, perceptual transformation. You see, sprinkled about the huge banana bowls were numerous much smaller bowls – each of these, also, filled to the top — with unshelled peanuts, walnuts, hazel nuts, pecans, and the monkey’s favorite, Macadamia nuts – and it was these bowls that, when viewed from afar, appeared to be planets orbiting through the heavens around 10 yellow suns. Indeed, each landing light had grown to take on a sun-like appearance that, when accompanied by the planetary entourage just noted, turned it into a solar system very similar to our own.

Upon touch down, the free-fall over, this celestial illusion vanished, replaced by the uncharacteristically serene faces of one hundred monkeys — no more and none less — seated and quiet and respectful, all 100, counting the chair at the head of the table reserved for our visitor’s host, AKA Mr. 100, who sat there now, along with his (or her – who can tell when it’s a hairy monkey under scrutiny) newly-arrived guests, Craignito, kitty-corner left, and Subucon, kitty-corner right.

Mr. 100: (leaning back casually in “his” custom-built rattan, an ear-to-ear, Cheshire smile, quite unexpected as it beamed brightly amidst his otherwise ape-like, primitive features – as were the glint of two metal teeth – one silver, one gold — flashing — as they occasionally did in the natural light being funneled down from way, way above — when speaking mostly – for this monkey had a fondness for that — advertising that this was no ordinary monkey – advertising that this monkey was, indeed, one of a kind – unique in every monkey way)

“And to what do I owe the honor and the pleasure of this wonderful surprise visit, Craignito and Subucon?”

Subucon: (not sharing Craignito’s surprise in being addressed by his first name, Subucon answers in reply)“I was thinking it only fitting to make our first stop in our holey descent, your luxurious domicile, Mr. 100, sir.”

Mr. 100: (knowing full well, without asking, that there was more to this “why” than just to say “Hi” that brought these two visitors from above – from the land of illusions. You see, word travels fast, especially under-ground; besides, there was really only one reason that anyone ever came here; besides – and this was a reason most significant — Mr. 100 knew, because he just knew. Nevertheless, Mr. 100 didn’t want to seem overly presumptuous and, so, played along) “Oh, why is that, Con, my man?”

Subucon: “Craignito here, has never heard the story; so, I thought it might be good if he heard it from the horse’s…excuse me, monkey’s mouth, so to speak.

Mr. 100: “Short version, or long?”

Subucon: “Short, but, please, include everything you, alone, are privy. You know — all the stuff that cannot be found in the current literature.”

Subucon: (Thinking Craignito could use some back-round info to help him make more of the monkey’s message, Sub turns to the Craiger and continues) “In the 1980’s, when the mass-produced novella, The 100th Monkey first appeared, the threat of nuclear holocaust, including the fear associated with it, was in the back of every ones’ mind. The reason Ken Keyes wrote this book was to help reduce the threat imposed by the possibility of nuclear war by decreasing all the negative thinking – fear mostly – being generated by this issue. In other words, if enough people thought strongly enough about such a war, that war would surely happen. To this day, there is ongoing debate regarding how much of Ken’s book is factual vs. how much is pure fiction. Are you ready now to hear what our friend has to say? ”

Craignito: (Having gone beyond the shock of hearing his first coming out of the mouth of a total stranger, Craignito was now dealing with the bigger question: how a monkey, or any animal for that matter, could be conversing in the King’s English – and so proficiently, too – that he barely managed to nod his head to indicate) “Go ahead.”

Mr. 100: “I remember the day as if it were yesterday. I was sitting in the sand playing with my friends – Tree Jumper, Poop Shoot, Banana Hands… and, at the same time, watching my mom pick up one of the sweet potatoes that the kind scientists, who also lived on Koshima Island the same as we did, made a habit of leaving on the beach for us to eat. As mom was just about to take a big “sandy” bite, I yelled out: ‘Mom! Mom! Stop!’ Without saying another word, I rushed over, grabbed her potato, washed the sand off in the sea water nearby, then handed it back. When she bit into it something magical happened. I’m not sure if it was because some of my friends’ moms had seen what I had done, or what, but from that day forward, none of us monkeys – young, old, or in between – would ever bite into a sweet potato again — without washing the sand off first.”

Craignito: “Really?”             

Mr. 100: “Yep. And when I say ‘none,’ I mean none, because from what all the reports indicate, as soon as my mom’s teeth sunk in, all the monkeys that were the same species as me, my mom, and my friends, ‘Japanese macaques,’ started washing their taters, too — including those living on islands far away.”

Craignito: “That’s amazing!”

Mr. 100: “Yep. And what’s even more amazing is what happened next.

Craignito: “What could be more amazing than that?”

Mr. 100: “The scientists told Watson, Watson told Ken Keyes, and Ken Keyes told the world…or, at least, enough of it that the nuclear holocaust that would have occurred had he remained silent, didn’t. We monkeys proved that thought energy connects us all, and if enough of that energy is composed of the same thought, the conditions being thought about will occur. We, actually, I knew this immediately. It was intuitively obvious.”

Craignito: “Wow! It doesn’t seem that obvious to me, 100. How can you be so sure?”

Mr. 100: “Instinct. Ever notice whenever there is some impending natural disaster — volcanoes, especially — all the animals begin to suddenly high-tail it out of there — way before there is any apparent warning? That’s instinct. Part of what Mother Nature provides her less mentally endowed creatures to help insure survival of the species. As you probably know some insects — aphids, for instance – in times of dire emergency, are even able to sprout wings and fly. If we have been given that kind of metamorphosis-like ability by Mother Nature, do you think she would forget to provide the same level of instinctual knowing when having to live alongside her most unpredictable creature creation, human beings? Hell, no! As it turns out, there were a couple of deranged dingbats in power at the time, each of whom had access to the button, and would have zapped us all, long ago.”

Craignito: “Wow! That’s incredible! Your instinct told you all of that?”

Mr. 100: “Well, not exactly. I do like to consider all the evidence – the factual basis of things – to help confirm what my instincts are telling me. For instance, the number 100 isn’t exactly how many of us there were when ‘The Hundredth Monkey Phenomenon’ occurred that fine sunny day. Heck! There weren’t 100 monkeys living on Koshima at the time…and, as you now know, it wasn’t me, but my mom, who was the real ‘Hundredth Monkey.’ Those are the facts. It wasn’t the 100 designation that made this number special, obviously, since it had to be something smaller; or, perhaps, something larger. No reason why our special configuration was significant. It was special because it was the number needed to go beyond the ‘tipping point’. Paper won’t burn until it reaches a temperature of 451 degrees Fahrenheit – then it burns by itself spontaneously. As for my mom, she wanted me to get the credit. My mom, God rest her soul, was like most moms when it comes to that sort of thing…plus, this way, she didn’t need to explain. Any monkey parent who learns, instead of teaches, his or her kids something major, doesn’t go over too well in the monkey realm. In fact, I don’t recall that ever happening before. If the truth had leaked out, to this day, my mom would still be laughed at and talked about in every monkey bar no matter where it might be.

Craignito: “Wow!”

Mr. 100: “And, I’ve got to tell you, there were a few of your kind – primarily those with lots of money and power, who had built specially equipped bunkers hidden deep underground that were none too happy about the peaceful turn of events.”

Craignito: “Really?”

Mr. 100: “They even hired some goon reporter, who did his best to discredit Watson. Take a look at this.” (100 pulls out an old, wrinkled article and hands it to Craignito. It was taken from something called ‘The Skeptical Inquirer.’ One paragraph, in particular, caught his eye, since 100 had obviously gone out of his way to high-light and underline the parts he found particularly offensive): ‘When the “hundredth” monkey learned to wash potatoes, suddenly and spontaneously and mysteriously monkeys on other islands, with no physical contact with the potato-washing cult, started washing potatoes! Was this monkey telepathy at work or just monkey business on Watson’s part?’ The article then shifts to focus on the person that many consider to be a Saint, because of his many glorious contributions to the enlightened thinking characterizing the New Age movement, Ken Keyes, Jr.: ‘From Keyes, one gets the image of spontaneous mass orgies of spud-dunking.”

Craignito: “Fascinating, 100. ‘potato-washing cult — when it comes to bashing, you just gotta know the media will turn to their signature ‘c-word’, sooner or later. And ‘spud-dunking.’ Isn’t there a franchise called ‘Spud Dunkers’ that specializes in potato doughnuts?”

Mr. 100: “Sure is, and guess what?”

Craignito: “What?”

Mr. 100: “I’m not sure if the entrepreneurs that created ‘Spud Dunkers’ read this particular article, or not, but they sure as hell turned it around in our favor, if they did…and their favor, too, of course. They’ve become quite successful, haven’t they? As it turns out, potato doughnuts, especially those made from sweet potatoes, are much healthier than those made from wheat. ‘It’s the ‘slam dunk’ providing the Spud Dunker edge.’ Surely you’ve heard that? The overall health of entire police departments is improving significantly by simply substituting the spud for the dud…or is it ‘crud?’ In fact, there’s one ‘Spud’ that opened up out Vancouver way that will occasionally draw in Mounties from as far away as the next Province over.”

Craignito: “Fascinating, 100!”

Mr. 100: “Just saw a recent ad. ‘Bad guys got you down? Join our spud-dunking cult, and together we’ll throw the bastards out of town!’

Craignito: “Nice!”

Mr. 100: “So, in bringing this short story to a close: with disaster having been averted, and people slowly waking up to realize that it was the banksters and the politicians – the so-called ruling class – who were really the parasitical, life-sucking scourge of humanity, these leeches, being the vindictive lot they are, having failed miserably with those they love to feed on the most, decided to focus their wrath on us. First, they tried stirring the pot with all those silly Planet of the Apes films. Then, once we knew they were headed our way, and out to hunt us down, one-by-one, we had no other option than to form an alliance with Peter and go underground.”

Craignito: “Peter?”

Mr. 100: “Peter Rabbit. Surely, you’ve heard of him?”

Craignito: “Yeah, but…”

Subucon: “Hey, Craigo, what say we not take undue advantage of Mr. 100’s fine hospitality any longer and over-stay our welcome. Just in case you haven’t noticed, Craigisti, there’s a lot of hungry monkeys beginning to fidget, and, I swear, the majority of them have their eyes glued to the top your head. With that crew-cut of yours, you know, it really could pass for a giant sweet potato of sorts.”

Mr. 100: “Don’t be ridiculous, Subucon, they are just interested in what your buddy has to say. You’re both more than welcome to join us for our Sunday feast…and stay the night.”

Subucon: “As much as we do appreciate the offer, my friend, we really must be going. The green goblins and yellow hornets we popped into our gullets are gearing up and getting ready to kick in, and we definitely want to be where we need to be before that happens…and from the way Craignitos hair is standing up on end at attention right now, I’d say that could already be happening.”

Having said their goodbyes, both members of our stalwart crew looked back in unison; just in time to see both of 100’s hairy upper extremities being raised skyward. When they came down with a resounding thud on the table top, total pandemonium broke loose. Apparently, these monkeys loved to play “banana grab.” Two, three, and sometimes four monkeys all grabbing the same banana at the same time, just to see who could hold on the longest. Well, monkeys never let go of their bananas. White globs of banana squirting everywhere, except inside the monkeys’ gastro-intestinal tracks, where it should be going. What a mess!

Craignito: “Sub, how much of what 100 told us was actually true? I thought it all was, until he got to the ‘Peter Rabbit’ part.”

Subucon: “What do you mean? You don’t believe in Peter Rabbit, Mr. Skeptical Inquirer?”

Craignito: (Not knowing how serious Sub was, Craignito just stood there looking perplexed. Actually, he, along with the Sub, might have appeared to be standing, but now Subucon’s long locks flowing upward in the breeze of apparent wind was a dead give-a-way that they had resumed their downward journey, and had already reached terminal velocity. Although the Craigster was mightily relieved that his “sweet potato” head was still in one piece and now at a safe ‘far-from-dinner’ distance, he couldn’t help but wonder what was the point of it all?) “Sub…”

Subucon: (noticing the demeanor of his friends face, Sub knew he must speak up now – before the goblins laughing in one ear, and the hornets buzzing in the other got too loud – to put Craignito’s mind at ease). “Remember, Craignito, the Peter Rabbit part was all for us. 100 only told you exactly what you needed to hear. The point was never how much truth was in his story, but how much truth his story was about. Consider Peter to be what was needed to separate and thus make more obvious what was most important for us to hear. Call it intuition, call it monkey telepathy, call it logical scientific investigation, call it the Hundredth Monkey’s business to use his — or is it her — unique gift to peer into the future. It will make more sense soon. I promise.”

With that, Subucon lifted his gaze upward. Craignito followed his lead. Both of them could have sworn they were able to see the crescent-shaped moon, or was it 100’s knowing grin, fading into the distance. It must have reminded them of something, because they both got an instant craving for Campfire Girl chocolate mint cookies.