The Weekend Eudemon
Fun night last night, which threatened to get out of hand. Neighbor's house for a beer after work, drinking club for a few tall pilsners, back home for a glass of White Grenache, then back to the neighbor's to meet some guy named Pinot Grigio.
Fortunately, Eric got home around 9:00 and well short of the stumbling demon. He wishes he could have slept in, but couldn't, thanks largely to two-year-old Max, who had climbed into bed with his parents and proceeded to jostle the groggy Eric.
Things are mostly proceeding well at TDE. We finally got the “Send This Post To A Friend” feature working (which we encourage you to use). Visitors are up significantly, but the Kiosk isn't doing great. We're getting some posts, but a typical post gets fewer than 50 viewers over the course of a week, which means fewer than 5% of TDE visitors check out the Kiosk. We're disappointed, but not crushed. It's simply a side feature. If it takes off, great, if not, no big deal.
Malcolm's Messages (what's this?)
Chapter 2: Malcolm and the Maze
Malcolm woke up and went back to Eligire University days later. He came to the Triangle. Handsome Dan wasn't there, and that made him sad. Handsome Dan's fine clothes covered an even finer heart that was in danger of losing the Great Battle. Mr. Rufus was there, so that was good, but he was with a new wife. The Face Ocean had changed, but it was still an Ocean.
He sat on the speaking stone. After a few hours, he stood on it to speak in a loud voice.
"I have returned. I am Malcolm."
His voice was loud enough to be offensive, but smooth enough to be inviting. Conversations stopped. Those who could, suspended their errands and sat in the Triangle. Others stood, smiling. They had heard of Malcolm. News had spread quickly.
"What have you come here for?" Malcolm asked. "You have come for an education, yes, but is that all?"
"We came for a diploma, and to get a job," someone called from a cove in the Face Ocean.
Malcolm looked and smiled at the man. He was holding a football on his hip. Malcolm liked football and watched it in the Ante-Basement Era, before the gift was bestowed.
"Yes, a job," Malcolm replied. "That is a truly noble thing, for we must work, and if we must work, then work cannot be a bad thing. The Kings that dwell beyond the Purple Islands would not impose a bad thing on their subjects.
"Because work is good, we should have a job. And we come here to get ready for a job that is suited for our talents and temperaments. That is good.
"But is that all there is? Just a job, and the diploma that gets us the job, and the passing grades that get us the diploma, and the studies that get us the grades?
“If that is all there is, this place of learning is impractical because it does not teach us how to live. It does not teach us about the Great Things: what is good and to be pursued, or what is true and to be sought, or what is beautiful and to be cherished."
"Yeah, but it gets us money," someone yelled, "then we can buy the good and the true and the beautiful." Laughter rippled through the Ocean. Malcolm laughed, too, then responded:
"Assuming you know what it is, you might be able to buy it, yes. A beautiful painting perhaps, or fine books that contain the truth, or trips to places to see goodness. Yes, I suppose a measure of it might be purchased. But you must first recognize it.
"And to recognize it takes time. Yes, time. I have spoken of that matter before," and he looked at Mr. Rufus, who nodded and smiled.
"There have been Wise Men who spent all their time, their entire lives, pursuing the Great Things and never attained them. In the olden days, some Wise Men nearly attained them, and the Kings beyond on the Purple Islands came and snatched them away. Though the Kings suffered them to return and dwell among the people, unscathed and wholesome, the Wise Men had become different. While in their presence, people were happy, even content. The Wise Men walked here for thousands of years, but now few remain."
Malcolm's words trailed off here and he fell into a dreamy trance. Someone yelled from the Ocean, "What the hell are you talking about Malcolm?"
Even Mr. Rufus looked troubled. . .
