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Stories of Jerome

Stories from Jerome

Do you believe in Love

We find Jerome sitting in the dining area of a local KFC with his laptop plugged into an area outlet. It is late at night and the cleaning crew is tidying up the store as Jerome and his friends are finishing their meals and shutting down their laptops, and making their way out the doors.

Where are we going to go now? one of his friends asks, “Let’s head to the Metro and take a ride.” Making their way down to the platform there are guards at the bottom of the escalators shooing people away from an attacked man. Everybody looks around in surprise, there is an attacker in the area and where are we going to be safe?

Jerome pipes up and says “follow me.” Up out of the metro the gang all follows out onto the street. “Come and let’s be off, there are miles to travel!” and like magic Jerome rises into the air over his friends they look astonished at Jerome’s ability to rise into the air. It’s a gift that he has had for some time now, “Come and let’s be off…” He waves his hands and fairy dust falls from his palms over his friends heads and one by one they rise off the sidewalk and into the air, as Jerome leads them on an adventure over the city.

From here to there they travel over the city marveling at the freedom that flight brings to them, as they follow Jerome through the night sky. He leads them one by one to their homes where they drop out of the sky to the stoops of their front doors. He has taken care of them once again tonight, they are safe and indoors once again. And finally he comes…

“Come Jerome, let us be off there are miles to travel before we rest…”

The words that Jerome longs to hear from the one who bestowed the gift upon him. And they rise in unison over the roofs of houses and buildings across the wide dark sky.


Jerome and the Snow…

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It snowed again today. This is a view of the street I live on here in Montreal. The building farthest back on the left is mine, as we look towards where this photo was taken. I take some time each day to sit on my balcony and take part in my yearly meditation with the silence.

For a few more weeks this silence will remain over the city, as it has in many places in North America. By now many people are fed up with Winter and I know many are wishing now that it be over with. But come Summer, we will be complaining that it is too hot and that we wished it was cooler.

I stand on my balcony as the snow falls and it always amazes me how silent it is during a snow event. The trees below are dusted and cars are covered. It is just beautiful.

**********

Jerome woke one night from his sleep the branches of the trees slapping up against the windows of his room. The rain was falling, the wind was blowing, so he got out of his bed and ventured over to his window because he heard the voice call out to him “Jerome, it’s me come and let’s go.” He had heard this voice call to him before – it had visited him several times and was unique.

Jerome stood at the windows and reached out with his arms and closed his eyes, as he rose from where he stood, out of the room, out of the house, up, up, up into the firmament that is the heavens above. There his friend was, like Jerome had always known, the face of an angel the voice of peace and eternity, “come let’s fly like the wind the night is young and there are miles to travel before we reach the daylight.”

Intertwining their hands Jerome resting behind him, they took off like a bird for places yet still unknown. From place to place they traveled on the wings of gossamer, their hair blowing behind them the song of the breeze in their ears. They covered much ground in those first late night hours, above the clouds surveying the land.

Jerome was astounded at the sense of calm and peace he felt when he took to the air. It was flight that set him free from the world he lived in by day. They spent many nights flying together, no words needed to be spoken, but the love between them was something Jerome had never felt. He did not know why he was gifted to travel so far and so wide with someone who loved him more than he ever knew before, “why him?”

Around the world they flew by night, visiting great cities and places. He showed Jerome all the secrets of the astral plane and told him of the path he must follow. Jerome knew this as to be the one chance he had to break the chain of life he had been stuck with for so very long. He longed to be free to soar above the clouds and be free from the world that held him so tightly in one place.

Jerome had loved once, with the most pure love he had ever known, he knew the touch that would calm his fears, he knew the love that dare not speak its name, alas, never would they see each other again, and the world saw fit to tear them apart. Sadness and loneliness became Jerome’s constant companion, until the flights began many years after they parted ways.

He spoke to Jerome with a whisper that was music to Jerome’s ears. They dipped beneath the clouds are soaked by falling rain, but it did not matter as long as they were together.

They knew that they were meant to be together, even if the world fought against their union. So there in the air they would fly to places unseen by human eyes, and they knew truths that no one had ever known, they knew what “one love” meant and how they would maintain it.

That night Jerome knew that he was meant to soar, and to love and to explore the far reaches of himself and his thoughts. He would be there to travel with him whenever Jerome wished him to be. Jerome would hear the voice call to him, “Jerome, it’s me come and let’s go!” and once again his eyes would close and he would rise to the love that knew no name with the angel that had no name, it was grace that Jerome was accustomed to feel whenever they spent time together.

In time Jerome’s night flights would become far and few between because his own journey had begun, and so on the odd occasion Jerome sleeps at night, and hears that familiar voice, “Jerome, it’s me come and let’s go” and they would rise above the clouds and travel the world around them…


Jerome – Aunty's

Aunty lived on top of a mountain, down a long long road named Atkins street. It was a short drive from home on Kennedy drive to aunty’s house where she lived with her husband and daughter. It was a white house that sat on a banking hill and had many levels.

Aunty was a great woman, one of Jerome’s great protectors. Back in the day when they were still family, before the great schism, this is where they would all meet and spend time together. The house had huge rooms and big furniture. BIG furniture. The main family room, never used but for holidays and Christmas had a huge fireplace on one wall and against the front windows was a wooden console cabinet which had a record player on one side and a radio on the other. His cousin Sandy was a dancer and they would attend many dance recitals over those years.

Downstairs was a huge rec room that was specially built from the garage that once was there. The room had a pot belly stove that piped up through the bedrooms and heated the house after its building.

His memory is strong when it comes to this house because he spent many years under its roof. This was forest country as was said before, this was prior to the need to deforest entire areas of trees and forest in the name of consumerism and business.

The back yard was sloped down to a pond that was fed by a running stream that followed the mountain from one end to the other. There were many weeping willow trees on the property not to mention pine and spruce trees.

The best part of aunties house was the pool that his uncle had built into the side of the hill. This is where he learned to swim and where the family would congregate on summer holidays. There was a huge redwood deck that he built next to the pool so that one could suntan next to the pool. It was an amazing space. Times then were simple. He would spend hours skimming the pool because of the weeping willow trees and the bugs that were plenty then.

The kitchen was a nexus point of the house, his aunts and grandmothers and mother would gather in that kitchen and cook fantastical meals for the many family gathered there during summer vacations. They would sit at the king Edwardian table that seated twelve people at once, as was said, everything was BIG then, it seemed to him.

His uncle had a big CB tower on the roof of the house, as he was a trucker, and they would sit and talk to people from all over – over the radio. That was a fad back then, cb radio’s – their family used to make the drive north and south up and down I-95 with their cb radio in the cars they would drive.

There was a field that Sam would grow vegetables in each year and they would pick berries in the fall. Sam was a farmer who lived across the street from aunty’s house. Sam was an apple farmer and owned acres and acres of land covered by apple trees up and down the mountain side. He remembers when Sam would take him up the mountain on his tractor during picking time. It was a most fantastical fall event in their lives.

He remembers one particular fall, getting off the airliner at the airport and being driven up the mountain during the most spectacular fall days he had ever seen. The trees were burning yellows and oranges and the rain was slightly falling, making everything wet and weepy.

The pot belly stove was burning and he remembers the scent of burning wood and the smell of home. He would sit for hours at the poker table [that’s what it was] in the rec room and color in his books with his deluxe crayon set.

There was something specific about this visit that he can’t quite put his finger on suffice to say, after that visit there doesn’t seem to be any further visits to this particular home.

His mother had issues with her siblings as did his father, and after one wedding and the bruising of egos and words spoken, he was separated from all that protected him, and aunty became persona non grata to his family.

As he grew up he could see past the schism of family and he would attempt, throughout his life, to maintain some connection to all the was, alas adults failed to rise to the call of family and he would find himself on the end of a dead phone line…


Jerome – Aunty’s

Aunty lived on top of a mountain, down a long long road named Atkins street. It was a short drive from home on Kennedy drive to aunty’s house where she lived with her husband and daughter. It was a white house that sat on a banking hill and had many levels.

Aunty was a great woman, one of Jerome’s great protectors. Back in the day when they were still family, before the great schism, this is where they would all meet and spend time together. The house had huge rooms and big furniture. BIG furniture. The main family room, never used but for holidays and Christmas had a huge fireplace on one wall and against the front windows was a wooden console cabinet which had a record player on one side and a radio on the other. His cousin Sandy was a dancer and they would attend many dance recitals over those years.

Downstairs was a huge rec room that was specially built from the garage that once was there. The room had a pot belly stove that piped up through the bedrooms and heated the house after its building.

His memory is strong when it comes to this house because he spent many years under its roof. This was forest country as was said before, this was prior to the need to deforest entire areas of trees and forest in the name of consumerism and business.

The back yard was sloped down to a pond that was fed by a running stream that followed the mountain from one end to the other. There were many weeping willow trees on the property not to mention pine and spruce trees.

The best part of aunties house was the pool that his uncle had built into the side of the hill. This is where he learned to swim and where the family would congregate on summer holidays. There was a huge redwood deck that he built next to the pool so that one could suntan next to the pool. It was an amazing space. Times then were simple. He would spend hours skimming the pool because of the weeping willow trees and the bugs that were plenty then.

The kitchen was a nexus point of the house, his aunts and grandmothers and mother would gather in that kitchen and cook fantastical meals for the many family gathered there during summer vacations. They would sit at the king Edwardian table that seated twelve people at once, as was said, everything was BIG then, it seemed to him.

His uncle had a big CB tower on the roof of the house, as he was a trucker, and they would sit and talk to people from all over – over the radio. That was a fad back then, cb radio’s – their family used to make the drive north and south up and down I-95 with their cb radio in the cars they would drive.

There was a field that Sam would grow vegetables in each year and they would pick berries in the fall. Sam was a farmer who lived across the street from aunty’s house. Sam was an apple farmer and owned acres and acres of land covered by apple trees up and down the mountain side. He remembers when Sam would take him up the mountain on his tractor during picking time. It was a most fantastical fall event in their lives.

He remembers one particular fall, getting off the airliner at the airport and being driven up the mountain during the most spectacular fall days he had ever seen. The trees were burning yellows and oranges and the rain was slightly falling, making everything wet and weepy.

The pot belly stove was burning and he remembers the scent of burning wood and the smell of home. He would sit for hours at the poker table [that’s what it was] in the rec room and color in his books with his deluxe crayon set.

There was something specific about this visit that he can’t quite put his finger on suffice to say, after that visit there doesn’t seem to be any further visits to this particular home.

His mother had issues with her siblings as did his father, and after one wedding and the bruising of egos and words spoken, he was separated from all that protected him, and aunty became persona non grata to his family.

As he grew up he could see past the schism of family and he would attempt, throughout his life, to maintain some connection to all the was, alas adults failed to rise to the call of family and he would find himself on the end of a dead phone line…


Jerome – Transcendence …

Jerome lives on a world of universal creation. The wisdom of ages past serves him well. In his time, the need to label and separate people had come to an end eons ago.

Coming from a world of such division, he questions the way that humanity sees itself and the world that exists around them. His progenitors did not learn the lesson of the law of return. Nor did they learn from their mistakes.

In the intervening centuries, the world would suffer because of men’s and women’s decisions and by their own actions. A world divided is a world separated from itself. There is no wisdom in separation when we all come from the same origin.

Humanity has the ability to transcend its own boundaries if it allowed itself to see the wealth that different humans brings to the discussion of mosaic and melting pot.

The necessity to differentiate, as wisdom speaks is pointless. It requires much too much energy and takes away from the total person who is said to be different.

Where difference was once something to be used against men and women would eventually turn to the respect of personal assets that each person brings to their existence, community and world. Wisdom sees that the labeling and differentiation of population and of peoples was not the right path to walk.

It is not enough to be a resident of a location, but what is most important is that one have a connection to their living planet or biosphere. For if we are not intimately connected to the living process of our biosphere, that biosphere may suffer for lack of attention and care.

Wisdom speaks on the differentiation of religion. What day will come in the near to come time, when realizations are made that the creator of all things speaks and asks for an accounting of piety and observance. Did you keep the path clear, did you help and respect your neighbor, did you care for each other and your biosphere?

Wisdom speaks that many may perish within the division they create for themselves. All will be judged based on their actions towards each other and to their biosphere.

Wisdom of the ages speaks to the affect that until we decide to live together in community, caring for each other and learning the greatest lesson of bio-congruence, we shall all suffer, until we find the common link that connects us instead of standing on issues and differentiations that separate us.

The great lesson that wisdom sees is that we must work towards transcendence, we can be more than we had ever hoped and the biosphere does not need to suffer so. Men and women must work to maintain the world they live on because the children of later ages will be forced into interstellar travel to find locations suitable for humanoid civilizations.

The teachers of interstellar and inter-dimensional lessons have been attempting to make contact with humanoid civilizations and they have not been met with glad tidings. But they carry lessons that humanoid civilizations must learn in order to see themselves through to the next emanations.

It would be utter arrogance to believe that a single biosphere is all that lives in the universe. The creator has spent eons of time in creating worlds to be found, to be traveled to and colonized by whatever civilization figures out how to travel amongst the stars.

But in order to attain such knowledge from interstellar and inter-dimensional peoples, humanity must stop doing what it is doing today on many fronts. Humanity must rise above its kill and conquer attitude, and until generations are cleansed of the kill and conquer attributes, transcendence will remain illusive.

Traveling between worlds Jerome finds that successive generations benefit from the mosaic of peoples that populate his biosphere. There is no longer a need to identify province or language, difference or sameness.

All are united under one path, that is of transcendent life.

Everyone lives to sustain the other. The focus is on life instead of death. Future humanoid civilizations flourish when they have realized that killing generations of people for purely monetary gain goes against all that the creator – created us for. It speaks against and acts against all that is sacred at the universal level.

The dimensional worlds speak to all, when they say that the tribulation is at hand and has begun, the biosphere is purifying its land and proofing its inhabitants. Those that see the wisdom in the suffering will transcend the mundane and human. They will rise above the smoke and fire and from the ashes of destruction new lives must rise.

The creator sees the universe as it revolves and worlds collide and intersect in many ways, dimensions collide and those who have eyes to see it will find it. Those with right vision shall find themselves in successive generations to be able to transcend humanoid existence.

It is not enough to read the words of prophets and sages. It is time for action based on words read and spoken. Through the ages teachers have told us what they see, and have seen. Who in your lineage has the ability to speak for all to tell the universe what he or she has seen or sees? Would would it be that you trust as wise sage for your time, to make an accounting of your sphere?

The age is coming to an end. One must know that the universe moves and we move with it, and we must evolve with that universe or we shall perish. The universe only gives what each human can handle and conspires to assist us in our quest of transcendence.

Generations shall speak wide to the universe about what you failed to see and what you failed to do to attain the greatest gift the universe has to offer you. Wisdom knows what is coming, and what has come before.

Harden not your hearts when the universe speaks to you.


Visions of Maplewood Center

He got up early as was his custom, the air outside was cold, dew was still on the grass, the sun just making its way into the sky. With his ablutions finished he dressed for the cool morning and clicked the garage door that went up clunkyly and noisy. With one solid push the bike stirred forward.

He had three routes he could have taken. The central route which, at certain times united him with other students riding to school, the Northern route which followed a main artery Eastwards or the Southern route, which was much quieter and he could ride by himself and not be bothered to entertain others on the way to school.

Approaching Maplewood Center the building stood as a sentinel in the small neighborhood. He could see the mist still hanging over the field in the rear of the building. He locked his bike up and made his way to the entrance door that was manned by his favorite teacher, Mrs. Slevin. She was his English literature teacher, from the UK she was a true master of her art.

He had, in his pocket, a pass and a key! Those were his charms to get past the gatekeeper of Maplewood Center. Jerome had negotiated his way into school society by applying his abilities in the science department. And now, before any one had set foot in the school, he would find himself alone in this great big building, to set up the science department.

The gate keeper was wary of allowing him past her, though with a signed declaration of a rite of passage, she could not deny him entry into the world that awaited him. Through dark halls he made his way to room S-101, the science department teachers lounge.

It was his job to get papers graded in time for the start of class. He made coffee for the teachers, whom would be arriving shortly. He prepped biology labs and made copies of handouts on the old copy machine that used ink and rollers.

After getting the lounge set, Jerome made his way to the cafeteria because they served breakfast and he was the first one to eat each morning. He knew that one of his mentors would like food, as she always asked him to get her some, so expecting a request he took a tray upstairs with assorted goodies and cereals.

It was something to him to feel needed and appreciated. He gave himself to these adults, offering himself up to be adored. These relationships were tantamount to his growth as a young person. What he lacked at home was given freely and without question, here at school. His position in the science department would guarantee him an award never bestowed on another student in the schools history upon graduation. But he would not know this for some years.

One by one they came to the lounge, in various states of disarray, wakefulness and dress. Jerome knew their needs before they had to voice them, so all that was said was “thank you.” Day after day, week after week, month after month, Jerome made his way to Maplewood Center each morning. He had become the caretaker to the department.

The role of caretaker was something that Jerome would be forced into soon enough, yet that term would remain unidentified to him for many a year. With the state of affairs at home he had learned how to take care of adults while he remained a young boy. Living like an adult was normal for him. Making adult decisions came naturally.

Addiction and alcoholism were issues that he had to contend with at home, and in his second year at Maplewood, he would face his biggest challenge, family tragedy. Because Jerome held such a position at the school, everyone knew what had happened to him and to his family. When Jerome was taken from them for such a long period of time, they made sure he would not fall behind in his studies. It was as if the school was an extension of parental supervision.

He came home from school that day and the suitcases were in the living room, and one in his bedroom. “Pack” his mother told him, “you’re going to your grandparents tonight, there is no time to waste, gather your books and your games, your father will be home soon and you have an evening flight to catch.”

He was informed and prepared, but nothing would prepare him for what he would eventually see upon his arrival. Fainting at the sight, he fell to the floor, his head hitting the cold cement floor it was just too much for him to bear. The matriarch of the family had been taken from him, a disaster that would take Jerome on an odyssey of self awakening for the rest of his life, loosing crucial people in his life would be a common theme. This was ammunition for his father, used against Jerome to break his spirit and beat him into submission.

Jerome stood like a warrior against all that would befall him. Whatever evil was unleashed upon him, he always had sentinels to guide him, adults to love him, a God to forgive him and a religion that would teach him good from bad, right from wrong.

Maplewood Center would be his fortress and protection through the worst of times at home. He gave of himself every day. He studied, and served without question. He played sports as if they were salvation attaining. He hardened himself against the tide, and he survived. Although what did a boy know about survival?

Jerome had been given a gift by the matriarchs of the family. Gifts that he would have to realize would serve him well throughout his life, not only as a young boy. It is hard to maintain visions for an entire life when people are taken from you so early in life. but those early memories were all he had to hold onto. Jerome would see the value of the many lessons he was taught as a young child. For a few short years in his memory he was loved without abandon, he was protected from the evil in his family, he was shielded from the monster of addiction, though it was present every day of his life. As long as there were those he was protected by, he did not feel the wrath of evil upon himself.

This morning ritual was performed day after day. Funny, responsibility. Jerome knew what that was in the sense of being responsible for others, but that was one of the toughest lessons Jerome would learn – to be responsible for himself later in his life.

At school, Jerome was safe. He never spoke of his home to those at school, but by his actions, he spoke volumes. A child that is so thirsty for guidance and willing to do anything that was asked of him without question told them that “something must be wrong.” He was never abused at school, at home that was a very different story, many of the mentors in the department became mentors outside of school for him.

He mowed their lawns, washed their cars, did errands and took care of homes whilst they went on vacations. So Jerome had much to do on summer vacations, they kept him very busy and away from the evil presence in his life.

So it went year after year. Maplewood Center would be the most important time in his young life. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. But Jerome survived and thrived. In the end they gave him the highest award for his service to the school, the American Legion Service Award given to him by the faculty of the school, it was one of the proudest days of his young life.


Maplewood Center …

They’d driven past the school several times since moving into the neighborhood. First to figure out the distance from home, and secondly to plot a route to travel because Jerome would be biking to school now. No more early morning wake up calls, no school bus. He would now be responsible for getting himself into school on time.

Maplewood Center for the Arts. It was a new school, only been open a year and tomorrow would be the first day of school. That morning he rose from bed and readied himself for the fifteen minute bike ride to campus. He locked his bike in the yard and approached the front doors.

Welcome signs were all over the place. Direction arrows and special color coded lockers were on the first floor, along with administrations, shop, the locker room and the cafeteria and assembly hall. This was the big time. The sensation of being in a new school with a new system of six class sessions was new to him. How would he manage, who would be his friends?

Making their way to home room, the cacophony of sounds was like the buzzing of flies in his ears. up the broad staircases to the second floor, home room was in the English department. He would find that the school was sectioned in study subjects. English, Mathematics, Sciences, Library Services, Music and Band and finally Social Studies.

It would be a fine dance of movement and time, getting from class to class and get down to his locker to change out books and get to class on time. It’s a good thing that Jerome had several days of orientation in Maplewood so that he could get accustomed to the new schedule.

As the day progressed he felt better and better about where he was. He wasn’t the only one trying to find their way through the maze of middle school. Science would be first period, followed by English, Mathematics and Home Economics. Ah the best time of day, “lunch.” Jerome was fixated on where he would sit and who would talk to him, it was a big room with fold out tables and stools. Some kids were just plain mean.

After lunch the back court was open so he could stretch his legs and get some air from outside, since the building was a closed system. There were no windows in the building save for small staircase windows on each of the four corners of the building.  P.E. was next for him. Jerome new of phys ed. from his elementary school days, playing in street clothes getting dirty and washing up in the restroom. P.E. today would mean uniforms, and cleats and “changing” in front of other boys.

Walking into the boys locker room, the first thing that hit him was the smell of sweat, grass and dirt. Varsity and mainline P.E. classes shared the same locker room. They were all introduced to the gym teachers and were given numbers to the lockers assigned randomly. Jerome would find that his locker mates would become fast friends.  Struggling with the lock in his hands he had to figure out the combination and get up to his locker which was on the top most level of a six level locker grid. “You have a locker for your gym clothes and shoes, and a large locker next door for your change out.” They were all listening attentively. “You’ve got ten minutes to change out and get outside to the basketball courts.”

PE. was an experience from hell for Jerome. And it was going to get worse as the end of class drew near. Sweaty and dirty from playing on the courts kids were showering after class, “Showering” he thought to himself. Did I have to shower in that big room as well? He wrestled with this though for many days as it would happen. The only persons who had ever seen him naked were his parents. Now he would have to shower with other kids like him, probably thinking the same thing. Alas, for the most part those who were in the showers were not so transfixed with each others bodies as they were with getting in and out of the shower with time to spare before the next bell rang.

The first week passed by and Jerome was settled into a system of alarms, bells and whistles. Eventually the day came when he would take his first step into a gym shower with the other boys. Fighting against fear and ridicule, gym would become a feast for the eyes, a smörgåsbord of smells and a dance with make sexuality.

“Sexuality” what was that? Jerome knew the first day he set foot in the locker room that he was different. Something inside was just not right for him. He just knew it. But at that time, he couldn’t quite put his finger on what “it” was. He was drawn to certain boys, he hunted the locker room for like minded, or so he thought, like minded boys like him. He was a young sportsman, soccer, wrestling and swimming were his chosen intra murals.

These sports would unite a team spirit in gym for many of his team mates just happen to be in the same scheduled period. This would soften the anxiety he was feeling about himself and his body. It would be years before he figured out what set him apart from the others.

After P.E. was  keyboard. His favorite period of the day. Music was his first passion. Jerome, like his aunt Marge played piano by ear, no less. It was a gift that he would take all the way it would go in the educational system. Sitting in the back of the piano lab, sat another young boy named Gordy. Gordy would eventually become Jerome’s best friend as the years would pass by.

At the last bell, the great rush downstairs would occur every day, as the majority of classes were upstairs in the building. Jerome would make his way to his locker and stuff it with everything that he did not need and make his way home on his bike.  It was the best time in Jerome’s young life.