Mission:  Time to be a Detective! Tik-Tok…

 

 Marks the Spot!

 

The following story you’ve discovered is actually… a Treasure Map

 

 In this story are further clues or keywords regarding how to find your Treasure and navigate Inter-Routes.com These clues are underlined and string together like the golden thread you’re about to unravel…to create a circuit and open a portal, serving as a door into the expanse of your mind. See if you can spot these clues and start making some connections with some other chapters and modules on this site… as well as between your mind and those of others–across space, dimension  and time.

Fools Gold

“You’re a hopeless scoundrel. All you do is spin up tales instead of doing what you agreed we’d do.”

Lon T. Ranger was accustomed to such insults since childhood.

He stood stoic by the riverbank listening to Jed who was steadily panning for gold nuggets in a slow-moving stream. They were out in the open frontier, lined by woods with the rolling peaks of Mount Shasta surrounding them. (See on Map..)

 

The year was 1849–like many in the country and around the world, these two buddies had hopped on the bandwagon among hordes of others towards an expansion out west to strike it rich. Seemed like everyone on earth from lawyers to the downright lawless blazed trails in competition towards who could find gold —and how fast.

 

 

Thousands utilized all means of available transport— horses, mules, wagons, donkeys, canoes and steamboats — twenty years before the railroad. They set out miles like locus towards the promise-land of California– in an unprecedented Treasure hunt called the Goldrush.

“Mmhmm.. You know my tales are good.” Lon said.

“No, they ain’t.”

“And I kept my promise—by keepin’ your ungrateful hiney alive. To say I haven’t been of help is a real insult, Jed. You might recall I’ve led you across 2,000 miles to the edge of the country by avoidin’ all sorts of criminals and squirmshes… and survivin’ that real bad case of typhoid,  you surely can remember that, don’t you?”

“You know them trails better than I do.. an’ fine—I’ll say it—you know those trails better than anyone else in God’s country—but you didn’t do me no favors. Our findings were going to be 50/50, Ranger…”

Jed had a point. Lon T. Ranger was a professional guide—though he never saw himself as such. He had always led others on quests with such joy that he’d forget he was even “workin”. He’d been guiding for so long that when Jed asked Lon for help—he was just about ready—but wanted to first ensure one thing.

“Get yourself a new pair o boots, Puss, then take me out west like you do all them other folk—Let’s strike some gold!” Jed had hooted one day, clapping his hands as Lon reclined in a chair. Lon had stopped by for a short visit in his hometown of Natchitoches, Louisiana, sharing with Jed details of all his latest travels.

 

“Why should I bother gettin’ a new pair when all they need is a good shine” Lon replied, pulling his laces up towards him. Upon closer look, he regarded his boots’ ragged surface—noting they had indeed aged—and couldn’t be revived—even by a good polish.

He would never admit this to Jed.

Instead, he flicked some mud off the worn, brown leather, replying, “alrighty—we can set off next week—only if your wife will let ya.” Lon replied with a drawl, “if she does, let’s see how much of a conquistador you truly are”, then tipped his hat.

Given Jed’s fondness for an easy life, some part of Lon doubted that Jed would ever make it past the borders of their hometown to embark on any sort of hardship—or that Lorraine, Jed’s headstrong wife, would agree to partaking in an arduous journey or consent to the chance of being left behind by her husband— which Lon would never let his friend do.

Yet, Jed was the one to tip his hat the following week, waving it high up in the air like a victory flag, shouting, “Love ya, honey! We’ll be rich soon!”

 

“Look at that sucker, he imagines himself a gallant cowboy—but looks more like a teapot about to topple off a stove”. Lon chuckled, watching Jed beam proudly atop his mule. Lorraine stood behind her husband, blowing kisses—providing her wifely blessings in response to Jed’s promise.

The sheen of gold was enough of a force to lure snail-like Jed out from the swamplands of Louisiana across an unfathomable distance—a distance that Lon T. Ranger had trekked countless times—and could navigate blindfolded— true to his name.

 

HINT: A Funsheet Activity in the

Lon’s last name , “Ranger”, was simply a moniker he’d been assigned as he’d gone back and forth trekking from sea to sea in an ever-growing country that was booming day-by-day. From leading pioneers to the Wild West, the California pre-49ers, miners and cowboys—he was “dang near a legend”.

He’d cut through hidden pathways through forests and mountains—miles and miles of unexplored terrain, using nothing but his wits and survival instincts.

On various trails, from Santa Fe, to the Gila River and down Oregon trail, he’d heard every tale a man or woman could tell–from runaway slaves to robber barons and the indigenous. He knew that the true wealth of this growing nation was the people and their stories. In fact, it was the combined wisdom of the continent of North America.

Lon T. Ranger was a walking anthology of stories and tales, and like a trail he had memorized every twist and turn of a story.

In fact, he’d made it a tradition to start off his journeys by saying, “Once upon a time..” when tugging the reigns on oxen and mules to propel the wagon that such creatures drew into motion. It was his way of hinting to his passengers that there would be countless stories unfolding along the way—and that each journey—or story—was to start with a proper beginning.

Besides, it was another way to keep his passengers entertained—all of whom solicited him for stories—as much as they did for his navigation and survival skills.

By pairing his love for the discovery of trails and stories, he was always on the “tail of a trail” , sharing wisdom and safety with those that put their fate in his hands.

For those who sat behind him in the wagon, rocking and listening with deep interest to his stories, it was no surprise that his name,  “Lon T. Ranger” was due to the long trails he took and long tales he told. The “T.” was there for “Tale” —and “Ranger” signified a steward of these routes.

This very name was oft brought up across state-to-state, among pioneers and gold-hunters most seasoned in knowing who the best guides were in the traveling business. Their conversations occurring something along the following lines, more often than not, around a gambling table at some saloon.

“This country jus’ keeps gettin’ bigger and bigger.. and it ain’t worth it goin’ out by yerself with all sorts of Indian tribes out there…. Ya gotta go with someone who knows the way– but findin’ a decent guide ain’t easy –ya gotta find the right person–and gettin’ someone like Lon T. Ranger is a luck of the draw”

“I reckon you won’t be able to get him again”, another might ruefully reply reaching for a new card from the deck, “last I heard was he was booked for years on end–but if you do find him–mind if we come along?”

 

 

 

 

While the allure of the gold rush hadn’t yet faded for such folks on-the-go, or even Jed, Lon’s “Conquistador”, it had long waned for Lon T. Ranger himself who had begun to witness firsthand the cost of greed behind the Gold Rush whose fever ran rampant—accelerating the Native American population’s decline through disease, starvation and the start of the California genocide. His interest in the gold hunt waned more and more, to the point of repulsion—yet this realization fully didn’t set in until setting foot in California (from Louisiana); though, once it had, his decision was made. (See on map..)

Back on the river bend, where the two now stood at present , Lon T. Ranger gave his final verdict:

“I’m a man of my word. While agreein’ to your terms, I WAS hopin’ to get rich—then, things changed once I saw the ugly truth of the Gold Rush. I am still looking for Treasure—but on my own terms. Jed, you jus ’ keep payin my fare, lodgin’, meals and supplies. It is a small token for the price of helpin’ keep you alive—now, ain’t that a generous offer? I don’t want any of YOUR gold—that’s why I ain’t gonna help you look but I’ll protect ya from gettin’ killed or robbed.”

“Pshh..all that gold will surely be mine. You haven’t helped dig up a single nugget…. all ya do is yap on about some crazy time-travelin’ like a loon. Seein’ everywhere somehow ain’t enough for ya, now you’re claiming ya have to go past time..” Jed was shaking his head, his stout frame bending towards the water again, “The gold and Treasure you lookin’ for don’t even exist!”

This was a secret fear of Lon’s, in fact—that the Treasure and gold he was coveting might not be real.  What he was looking for wasn’t the run-of-the-mill gold for which everyone else had gone crazy—from business tycoons—on the domestic and international front—, to simple folks like Jed. Everyone wanted a piece. However, the Treasure Lon T. Ranger sought would result in a peace of mind as promised by a mysterious showman —with whom he became briefly acquainted one night at a carnival…— the Treasure he promised which might have even been, well..metaphysical. 

The Showman – Discovering the Thread

A few months back (in the gold rush town of Shasta), as Lon T. Ranger had been walking the lit streets of a traveling fair, his eyes flit towards a colorful tent and booth strewn with objects throughout history , some of which looked like they could be ancient artifacts from a cabinet of curiosities–as well as objects such as a spinning wheel , a gold thread , and a spider’s web . Right beside this odd collection, stood the little man donned in a jester’s costume.

Like an imp or elf, his eyes fixed on Lon from a distance, tapping his cane on the cobblestone street, as if beckoning him to come.

It seemed the showman was singling him out in the crowd. Lon T. Ranger was thinking he might have been the only one who could even see his booth as everyone walked past it without lingering by once, despite sideshows being the biggest attractions at any fair—especially during the 1800s.

There was a lanyard on the man’s neck, extending almost the entire length of his small stature, written in gold font, “Inter-Routes Agent” .

As Lon neared, albeit with hesitation, the man’s green eyes sparkled as if reuniting with a long-lost friend—or a fellow privy in a shared secret. “Welcome Traveler…” he said in a mysterious, high-pitched voice. “Given you’ve seen my tent….it means you’re one of the select few..”

“Well, how about that? Select few. That feels good. Is this one of those illusions where you keep something hidden in plain-sight through mirrors?” Lon rose to the tips of his toes, trying to peer over the booth to see where the mirrors so often used in stage magic could be.

Slowly, the showman shoved a mirror towards his face.

“No need to look further, sir—sometimes you don’t need mirrors to see your true reflection. You can find yourself in another like me—or peek inward where you’ll find greater treasures than the gold everyone else is seeking…”

The showman lifted his empty palm into the air.. then with a snap, gold thread magically appeared from the tips of his fingers, slowly unraveling and extending in length. He continued dangling the thread as if swinging a valuable necklace.

Lon’s eyes fixated on the pendulum.

“You look like a man who has seen far and wide—but have you been to the edges time or ever looked inward…because if you have—you’ll find there are paths leading to a greater Treasure within you”.

The thread was dangling—the small man appeared to be conducting hypnosis as Lon’s eyes followed, intently.

“Further and further in you go,
at the hem of time you sew,
using thread spun “once upon a time”
ago,
by a craftsman named….”

There was a pause before the showman continued, “can you guess my name? I’ll give you three chances.”

Lon T. Ranger pondered for a moment of the meaning of this riddle and who this strange little man could be impersonating, until he remembered some clues the showman used which sounded familiar to him—such as the words “craftsman”, “spun”, “Once Upon a Time”, providing three chances at guessing a name and even this strange man’s very appearance.

“How could I not realize it sooner? You’re the lil’ villian of my favorite tale!” Lon T. Ranger exclaimed. “Are you a mind reader too? He chuckled.

In Lon T. Ranger’s favorite fairytale, a miller had boasted of his beautiful daughter’s talents to a King passing by on the road near his home, claiming his daughter was so skilled that she could spin straw into gold.

The King then summoned the miller’s daughter to the castle, imprisoning her in a dungeon filled with straw. He warned the maiden that if she failed to spin this straw into gold by morning, he’d have her killed.

Feeling hopeless, the young woman cried. As she wallowed, a mysterious imp-like man appeared through the creaking door, “what will you give me if I spin this straw into gold for you?” he asked.

“I shall give you this necklace”, she said, taking the chain off her neck and handing it to him. Upon which the imp-like creature agreed. He took the necklace, along with his place behind the spinning wheel and began to spin—whir, whir, whir.

By morning, to the young woman’s relief, she awoke to a room filled with gold. This, however, did not appease the King. Instead, he moved her to a larger room filled with more straw, demanding she spin it all into gold by the next morning.

The young woman cried well into the night upon which the little man appeared again.

“What shall you give me if I spin this straw into gold for you?”

The woman handed her ring. The imp-like man took it and surely, by dawn, when the young woman awoke, she saw the room gleaming with gold.

The King now had now altered his proposition as he moved her into an even larger room—the largest she’d seen yet. “You must spin this straw into gold by dawn. If you don’t, you shall die. However, if you succeed– you’ll become my wife… and Queen.”

This time, the woman was just as hopeless as she had been the first night when she arrived at the castle. Surely, the imp-like man appeared, “what will you give me if I spin this straw into gold for you?” He asked.

“I’m afraid I have nothing more to give” she cried.

“Then promise that when you become Queen, you shall bequeath your first-born child to me.”

Feeling yet again helpless, the young woman agreed. The imp-like man delivered on his own word, and by dawn, the room was gleaming and brimming with gold.

The King promptly married his skillful bride — and the Queen’s happiest days dawned upon giving birth to her first born.

Having forgotten about the little man and her promise, she was aghast at finding him appear one day, claiming to take what had been promised to be his.

The young Queen pled and cried, upon which the tiny man took pity on her and said, “I shall give you three nights to guess my name. If by the dawn of the fourth day, you do not– your child shall be mine.”

From this story’s plot and using common sense, Lon T. Ranger could sense a sales pitch was coming—thus, turned the tables by referencing this story:

“So, what is the price of this deal? My first born child? I don’t got one—but could spare you my first-born mule—some say he looks like me—so you’d be getting a fine-looking creature that could pass as a centaur at one of your shows. Or do I need to guess your real name behind your stage persona?” Lon T. Ranger asked, extending his hand for a shake.

   

A picture of a classical centaur               Lon T. Ranger’s Mule     Picture of Lon T. Ranger

Message from Lon T. Ranger’s Mule: “See the resemblance between me and Lon? Good looks run in the family”.

 

 

The little man shook Lon’s hand, slipping the thread into his palm. “You don’t need to know my real name, sonny—however, $3.50 will do.”

Lon T. Ranger gasped. He was expecting to be ripped off—but not by this much. In 1849, $3.50 was equivalent to the purchasing power of $136.91 per the standards of 2023.

“You little conman… you think you can sell me a strand of thread for $3.50?”

“Oh, but no sir—this is not just any thread but THE thread… one handed to you by …”, the showman went quiet as if waiting for Lon to finish his sentence.

“Rumpelstiltskin?”

“Ahh! Don’t say my name!” The little man shrieked, covering his ears, squirming like he was in agony—the scene lasted several seconds—then he paused. There was silence for a few more seconds, whereupon he peeked up, smirking from beneath the tentacles of his jester’s hat. “Did you like my pitch?” He asked calmly. The ends of the hat jiggling with bells.

“I must admit it was a bit too high in sound and price——yet good pun. You take your actin’ seriously, sly one.”

“The imaginary and the real can cross-stitch, you know. It’s precisely what this thread will teach you. You’ll be led to a Treasure within you, beyond time.. it does need to interweave with a twin thread. However, such a thread is not spun by me, you see—but is drawn from the silk of a certain spider. See if you can reach the island where the spider is—as it’s all within you.”

“You cunning lil’ devil.. . I don’t understand a thing you’re sayin’..but you found yourself a fool who can always be sold on a good story—even if it doesn’t make sense and costs $3.50–so here you go. Count your lucky stars that I’m not a haggler.”

“You’ll soon find the price is but a pittance, for what you are to discover. Just wait and see!”

”Yeah, it’s just some thread. you’re pulling my leg—but it all sounds cryptic—jus’ the way I like it. Maybe, this this thread will bring me luck as it’s an exchange between two fools.. one whose name is…”

Lon took a pause, recalling the end of the story—

Throughout the course of those three nights as the Queen ran attempts at guessing the imp’s name, he was all-too-delighted to tell her that each time that she’d been wrong. Though on the last night, as one of her servants had gone on a hunt to seek out unusual names, in lands far and wide, he heard the little man delight and squeal in the deep forest, running around a fire, revealing outloud to himself that his name was Rumpelstiltskin.

On the dawn of the fourth day—when the imp-like man came arrived—initially in glee, he soon turned aghast at finding the Queen say, just as Lon T. Ranger was now saying outloud in unision with her to finish his prior sentence.

“Rumpelstiltskin.”

“Don’t say my name!” …” The little man shrieked. And soon as the little man snapped his fingers—the mirror in front of Lon T. Ranger broke—whereupon someone in the tent flapped open the door where puffs of smoke escaped, clouding the scene.

Lon chuckled again—coughing amid the plumes that clouded the little man in what Lon T. Ranger surmised was meant to be Rumpelstiltskin’s disappearing act. Before Lon T. Ranger walked away—(while wondering what kind of pressure had cracked the mirror from behind the scene), he slipped pieces of shattered glass from the table as souvenirs.

“Now, that’s a show.” He said appreciatively, though annoyed at himself for being a sentimental fool—having willingly bought such expensive thread from a con-man… and collecting shards of glass as memorabilia… as if they meant something.

 

HINT: A Funsheet Activity in the

The Agents

His purchase proved to be worth the steep price. Surely, after acquiring the thread, a series of strange occurrences kept occurring, leading to a chain of events, like the unbroken stitches in one of his mother’s prized tapestries from his youth…which Lon T. Ranger had considered priceless..

At various times, both during the day and night, he’d be led by strange impulses to tread deep into the forest–alone. He was being prompted by what felt like signals guiding him–mysterious sounds in his mind of which only of which he could hear.

During these excursions, he’d pay attention to these signals—often coming in the form of crow’s caw.

 

These internal sounds provided cues in which direction to go, like a compass. As his boots crunched on twigs and leaves… he’d be listening to this sound of the signal to which he could not trace to its source—nor to any crow. As the caws got louder, he’d find his eyes being led to follow fragments of cracked eggshells, leading as a trail to the base of a tree.

He was always startled at finding characters pop up mysteriously from behind these trees, each one more peculiar and eccentric than the last one who came.

It was as if they all had hatched from these eggs —and they always struck at a peculiar hour—however inconsistent, though always arriving in sequence—one after the other at different times.  They reminded Lon T Ranger of the hours of a cuckoo clock, (from the Black Forest of Germany), where the birds struck each hour with different counts in their call.

 

Each agent shared the same lanyard as the showman, reading “Inter-Routes Agent” and brought with them a magical book–leafed with gold pages– which they all referred to as the “Inter-Routes Manual”.

 

 

Moreover, these agents all spoke in some cryptic tongue, yet provided additional pieces to the puzzling conversation he had exchanged with the showman, making the murky details a little clearer. After providing some clues—they’d always quickly disappear.

Each agent’s arrival and every signal contributed to a gradual building of meaning and clarity—despite it all still being puzzling.

Per a page in this Manual an agent had referenced, these signals were invisible waves having been released from underground cables and shot to the sky—which would then descend into his brain like bolts of lightning, striking awareness in him of what the showman and each agent had revealed–piece–by-piece; such as the importance of the thread , the spider , the island , the self , and Treasure—and most importantly, of this mysterious inter-dimensional world called the Inter-Routes . In fact, he was beginning to get that buzzing feeling now as he stood by the stream, the very feeling he got whenever he felt he was receiving an incoming signal.

 

 

 

 

He’d obtain more clarity whenever he heard these caws—or—clues from the signals—gleaning guidance on what to do.

In no way could he pay attention to the signal he was receiving with Jed around—thus, he had to flee—like a fugitive. His friend already knew too much—as he’d seen Lon’s acting strangely after receiving the thread that night at the carnival while Lon was grinning like a mule from ear-to-ear–much like the one he owned.

“Hi.. it’s me again. My name is Ferdinand–but you can call me, Fernie, for short”.

 

Lon had shared with him the details of the strange man, thinking Jed would share a good laugh—but to his dismay, Jed wrung his neck, yelling, “Go see a doctor NOW–you’re deranged! Ya kook!”

Strangely, the signal was now guiding him to give the impression that he was going fishing to avoid eliciting further rebuke from Jed.

He reached for a copper rod lying on the grass which he’d purchased after one of the agents who’d introduced himself as the “inventor” had urged Lon T. Ranger to buy a “metal pole”. The next day, before any rooster in town even had the chance to crow, “Cocka-doodle-doo”, Ranger was at the door of the hardware store, waiting for it to open with the chime and creak.

 

Although, he didn’t know the reason why he was purchasing the rod as he was told by the mysterious inventor, “You’ll know what to do with it when the time comes…”

Sensing that time had now come, through the guidance of the signals, Lon then pulled out his handkerchief, drawing from it the thread he’d guarded since meeting the showman.

“I wouldn’t say it was true either if I didn’t see it in plain sight—and even I couldn’t believe it. But you saw the thread in my hands.. it still is here… he said, displaying the thread to Jed before wrapping it onto the top of the rod like a fishing pole. He continued, “it was my mistake for sharin’ any of that magic with you in the first place.”

 

“If I didn’t know you since we were knee-high, I’d swear you were off your rocker. I’d warn everyone against ya no different than I’d warn them about a feral dog with rabies. The craziest thing is I still even listen to anything you say.”

“Like it ain’t crazy to be rummaging for your kind of gold. Your chances are few and unworthy, Jed. Only the gold miners are gettin’ rich by murderin’ others with all them technology they keep buildin’.”

As he said this, Lon was poking the ground looking for a worm to give the illusion of searching for bait. While he was flecking soil, he detected a fat, wiggly worm, pulling it out—  then dropped it into his pocket.

“We ain’t killin’ or causin’ harm to nobody—and we ain’t killin’ no Indians. I could find some gold if ya just helped me…but ya refuse .. ya know every stream in the frontier …but all you’ve been doin’ is lettin’ me down..”

“The terms of a deal can change.” Lon said.

“You mustta heard that from your midget.”

Ignoring his slight, Lon rose. “I got bigger fish to catch—you can keep your earthly Treasure”.

“Well, at least if I find mine it’ll be reall! All you’re doing is your wastin’ time.. an’ mine too—stoppin’ us from doin’ what we came to do. You’re gonna die a poor man—with broken dreams… at least what I’m searchin’ for is real!”

“Well, it ain’t my fault you’d been no further than the town general store ‘till I scooped you up, carrying you through rain and shine, life and death , droppin’ you off at your destination, like a stork deliverin’ a babe into its mama’s arms… without a scratch”. Lon was flapping his arms like a bird, as he continued talking,

“I’ve got another adventure waitin’ for me. You’re a good man, Jed. Even if you are mighty ungrateful—ya made it out to the edge of the country, your dedication might pay off… you may find your Treasure without me as I may find mine..or we might be two fools endin’ up with a heap of fools’ gold. The risk is still worth it, ain’t it? So this bird has gotta fly.” Lon T. Ranger marched off, leaving behind Jed in the stream, who shouted behind him.

“You ain’t a stork—you’re a loon! Where are you going?! What ya going fishing for..?” We’ve got plenty left over for supper from yesterday.”

“I’ve got bigger “fish” to catch than ones you aim for, Jed… I’ll leave matters like wealth and satisfyin’ hunger to you…I’m on a quest…” he shouted back.

“So you ain’t gonna help me at all? You need money too! I’ve been payin’ for everything out here!”

Lon T. Ranger turned around and winked, “well, if you don’t give two hoots about the price of your life and me keepin’ you alive—then I hope that big ungrateful hiney of yours won’t get skinned alive by some bandit….yooo-hoooo, come and get him, boys! He whistled as he picked up his pace, “There ain’t no Lon T Ranger to protect him from hereon”.

“Lon!!!!  You’re a fool!!… Ya son….”

Before Jed could finish his cursing or catch up to his friend, —or now frenemy—Lon T. Ranger was running on the beaten path into the woods, camouflaging himself into the branches as he peeked through a gap, observing Jed.

Jed was looking around him, roving his eyes—as if sensing his friend wouldn’t abandon him, he returned to panning the pebbles while still looking up from time to -time.

“He’s right, I am off my rocker…poor Jed. He knows I’m just teasin’ though that fool never knows how much I look out for him…even when I’m tryna time travel. Now, where were we?”

Lon began to breathe deeply—attempting to listen the signals in his mind.

What could he possibly be prompted to do next?

——–

Notes:

According to one of the agents, the signals didn’t come from outside—but from within his own mind as they collected information from there for him to become more conscious of what they meant —and the steps to take towards his Treasure—and what his Treasure event meant—since the obtaining of it would mean access to the Inter-Routes.

He was afraid at times that he was becoming that crazy person—yet the clarity and bliss he felt upon receiving these signals made his own Treasure hunt worth it—as he seemed to remember more and more who he truly was deep inside (while feeling more deeply connected to the universe..).

The Electric Rod

Twigs crackled underneath his boots as he followed what felt like impulse but were directions from the invisible crow. Had he not known these were signals—he’d have surmised them as being pure intuition—though wasn’t that the definition of intuition: inner guidance?

 

As his feet moved, his eyes continued looking back through the branches to ensure Jed was alright. In case any bandit came to attack Jed, Lon T. Ranger would be ready to protect—and possibly even shoot the attacker(s).

Throughout the 17 years of being a guide, Lon T. Ranger was relieved that he’d never had to resort to killing anyone, even if for the purposes of self-defense. The concept of life and death as well as the taking of anyone’s life—whether human or animal—was a strange notion for a conscientious outdoorsman like Lon T. Ranger. He’d come to terms with killing (under dire circumstances), while remaining discerning. It all felt like a paradox.

He’d learned from the indigenous that the taking of even an animal’s life was never to be done lightly. Despite humans consuming meat for millennia–life was still a sacred notion– and as his feet stepped forward in the direction of a tree that was on the brink of death, he paused.

The signals led to where he was supposed to be—a dying tree; it made for a good-look out spot to watch Jed who was still panning unassumingly– having inched– a little.. but not too far– as if to be in his buddy’s line of vision. He was sure Lon was watching.. or at least he hoped.

“They say you can be in more places than one through this multi-dimensional business.. I hope it’s all true cause if it ain’t… I gotta swoop from the edge of time to save Jed in case some trouble bites him– an’ it always does, like a bloodhound does on the hind. Now where were we?”

He looked at the tree before him—recalling the Tree of Life on the Island where he was supposed to go. “Under the Tree of Life is the Treasure you’re supposed to find. You’ll find that the Tree of Life on the island is often dead. On the branches of the Tree of Life is a spider’s web, woven with the other end of the thread you are to discover .” An agent, an indigenous storyteller , with two braids in his hair had said.

 

On this tree before which Lon T. Ranger stood, he also saw a cobweb–then suddenly he remembered the worm squirming in his pocket.

It slid and slipped through his fingers as he drew it out from his pocket. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt ya, lil’ critter. I just don’t know what I’m supposed to do with ya.. but we’ll figure it out.”

The flood of incoming signals was directing him to pay attention to the thread– to take that copper pole in his hands and supplant its end into the soil.

He twisted the pole into the dirt, planting it tightly as he secured it several inches deep inward like an upright reed. Once the pole was fastened, he wrapped the worm around the dangling thread at the top—then gently as to not hurt his “lil friend”—pushed the wrapped worm to the base of the pole.

He’d been told by one of the agents that this thread was not only golden but was electric, too. The secret behind the thread was the forces of alchemy used to spin it—as they stirred the elements of life inside of a person into balance. Alchemy was believed to be ancient attempts of turning base metals into gold–what Lon T. Ranger was sure “all them gold hunters would kill to do.”

The agent from whom he’d learn this had appeared to him as Lon T. Ranger was following the sounds of the crow one day, catching sight of the eggshells. Lon T. Ranger’s attention went from the sound of the crows in his mind– to another sound– similar to the stirring of a spoon in a cup. Clink, clink, clink.

 

 

The agent was wearing a medieval purple cape and holding up a teacup, he was whisking what looked to be tea with a spoon. Plumes of smoke wafted from the teacup as droplets splattered everywhere.

“Behold Fine Man! If you think I am stirring sugar in this tea—you will be mistaken! Can you surmise what I’m stirring?”

“I don’t got a clue”. Lon T. Ranger replied.

“Why, a dash of salt! Every alchemist knows what the ingredients of the Elixir of Life are! These elements include earth, fire, wind and water—and of course, mercury, sulphur, and salt. These are said to be the elements inside of a person’s spirit. Do you know what alchemy does?”

“Uhh..alchemy turns base elements into gold?”

“An illusion! FALSE! The true teaching of alchemy involves the reaching of someone’s essence—or their highest potential—after enduring pressure”.  By this time, the agent was stirring so fervently that Lon T. Ranger was concerned the man was burning himself. More and more plumes kept rising higher and higher as the droplets splattered. The gaze in the agent’s eyes looked maniacal. The agent continued, “Alchemy is the bridge between the material and spiritual world. Fine Man, do you know what the Elixir of Life is?”

“Uhh, could it be.. tea?”

“Precisely! Tea is the Elixir of Life that will bridge your inner and outer world together. Now…what is said to be boiled when one is angry?”

“Well.. you boil water to make tea?”

“Yes.. but beyond that… beyond that, Fine Man. The Elixir of Life also represents BLOOOOOOD! BLOOOOOOD!” The Alchemist was bellowing. Lon T. Ranger was a bit afraid–hoping he wasn’t a vampire. “The Elixir of Life also represents… let me repeat– blooooooood….and the transformative powers of story” The agent was now flicking the droplets of tea onto Lon T. Ranger’s face. Lon T. Ranger managed to lick a droplet or two.

The man took a sip of the tea, pouring the rest carelessly into the ground as smoke shot from the soil.

 

“Stories are what spring forth life from within to the outer world–and are like an entryway deep inside —much like a volcano bridging earth’s interior and exterior. Mark my words—and remember the power of alchemy—and electricity!”

Suddenly, there was an explosion of smoke and the agent disappeared.

 

“Gee whiz, I keep learnin’ a lot. Can’t wait to meet the next agent.” Lon T. Ranger’s eyes twinkled, excited about when he’d receive the next signal.

Surely, about a few weeks later, the next one would appear to complete the cryptic clues the “Alchemist” had provided.

After being guided into the woods by the sound of the invisible crows.. and catching sight of the trail of eggshells, Lon T. Ranger heard the sound of the next agent. “Psst… look behind you..”

Lon T. Ranger spun around and saw agent with a clipped mustache with hair spiked up like a troll’s shoot up from behind a bush. His badge read, “The Inventor”.

The agent was holding up a page of the Manual, pointing to it and explaining.

“There’s a term called “wormhole” , he explained, “A wormhole is a tunnel-like connection through space, much like the real tunnels carved by worms in an apple. The Inventor drew an apple out of his sleeve. “Ta-da” and bit into it. “Juicy”, he remarked, continuing, “That tunnel could be a straight chute or a winding path. You’ll create an electric path for that to happen at some point. Here, catch!” the agent said, tossing the apple at Lon T. Ranger.  “Just get yourself a tall metal pole. You’ll know what to do with it when the time comes”, The agent finished saying.

“Now I don’t know much about this thing called electricity–but know what it feels to be zapped. Oww…” Lon T. Ranger said, as the apple struck his head. As he was reaching for the apple to take a bite, the apple and the Inventor disappeared.  “Hey, where’d you go?”

 

But now at the present time, as the signals ran through him like lightning—he was establishing a conduit. The electric rod, which he was sure the agent who had flashed in and out of sight like a ghost would be proud of him for figuring it out.

Through the signals, Lon T. Ranger was directed to breathe through the pole, like a shaman would into a long, ceremonial pipe—or more accurately, a musician into a clarinet.

“If only Jed saw me now“, Lon T. Ranger chuckled, making silly noises through the tube, amused at how they echoed, as he resumed his serious breathing.

He imagined Jed screaming at him from behind. “What are you doing? Ya, hell-bound shaman!?”

In that scenario, he’d assure Jed, “I ain’t doin no voodoo magic, ya haughty Puritan…” I’ve been a church goin’ boy with faith in God who knows there ain’t a thing in this world the power of prayer can’t solve”.

But the entryway into the self was a quest he felt was not for the faint of heart—nor did embarking on it challenge his faith in God—instead it strengthened it.

Lon T. Ranger couldn’t deny the feeling that there was a lifeforce stirring inside—an unexplored reality—-with trails he couldn’t access so easily—yet could only feel. Seeing the agents as well as arriving at the realizations brought forth by the signals strengthened this belief in him– even if others would consider him downright mad—among those in pleasant company being Jed.

There had to be more to reality and himself—things that can’t make sense when put into words or even through plain logic–  but could be so deeply felt via their symbolism that they just had to mean something  since they drew out such powerful feelings from the depths of his being–past the gut; a raw feeling confirming that what he felt was true—though, not a single “dang word” could ever describe. Nor could he put his finger on it, no matter how hard he tried.

It was all like a dreamworld–where logic in a dream made sense but as soon as one woke up trying to explain it, it would all just seem like nonsense. Some would take hallucinogens to experience these feelings to obtain visions or insight–but that didn’t appeal to Lon T. Ranger—”no siree”– as that caused more harm than good to the body in some cases. He strived to access this inner world and hidden dimensions of reality without the assistance of any drug. He’d seen plenty of individuals scavenging for mushrooms and cannabis, being knocked out senseless in poppy fields by exhaling the skunk-like smell of hashish. Just the thought of it made Lon T. Ranger want to pinch his nose, fan his hand and belt, “stinky… pooo-haaa”, yet these folks would claim such hallucinogens did wonders in bringing clarity in thought. He respected that–but it wasn’t for him.

Lon T. Ranger wanted the most organic way of making the unconscious conscious to himself. In him was this yearning to expand into the gateway of the unknown–towards which he was now being guided going to take a plunge—by dispersing as a droplet into an ocean…—while happening to use one of these incoming signals to take him.

Ironically, he caught sight of a mushroom—though there was no way was he going to ingest it.

He just had to listen to the caws being shot into his head from technologies of some hidden—and perhaps—imaginary realm called the Inter-Routes… even if he couldn’t make heads from tails of what any of it meant.

He recalled the conversations from the indigenous storyteller agent—the way to the that gateway of the unknown, being the island and sea within him, was through the breath.

“You must breathe..” the storyteller had told him..

And so—that’s what he was being guided to do…

Optional Read (a bit complex.. Reader can skip and resume to following section called “The Gate”)

The worm was to help in creating the wormholes as it had a twin underneath the island who helped linked one’s mind to geography–and in turn the universe through its thread. Lon T. Ranger was an electric being with a flurry of electric activity around and within him—as all humans are. And electricity would be how these thoughts got carried to the island through the sea which were previously brain waves. And again, it would be electricity enabling that web to act as a gateway to different realities by virtue of this thread on which the poor, confused worm dangled—this thread whose twin was on the island –and was spun by a special spider.

Through this thread—as well as some other components which Lon T. Ranger would come to learn of later—everything would be like an interconnected body and brain—or super information highway –which the internet would be referred to as—more than two centuries later.

Not a thing made entire sense to Lon T. Ranger and his head always spun thinking about it– but he did feel he was creating a portal—allowing for his inner world to cross with his outer and with that of a cosmic intelligence. If someone were to ask him how, he’d say “I don’t got a clue” –yet, he was continuing to follow the guidance of the invisible signals that shot through his head to awaken an awareness in him. And again, he trusted that raw feeling inside of him.

With the grounding pipe, he blew through the opening of the tube while recalling the instructions from a page in the Manual the indigenous storyteller had showed him (to see conversation, click here..)

As he closed his eyes, he imagined the electric waves that were pulsing somewhere in his brain—traveling through his brain cells (“whatever those darn look like”—he thought, “they only showed me a picture—like a blob growing out tips.. and those waves look like funny, squiggly lil’ things.” He then imagined these little, funny waves gathering up thoughts in his mind, like hands brushing through a strawberry patch—searching to pluck only the ripe strawberries—or in this case, the waves looking for the right data or thoughts in the mind to collect. As his thoughts were collected by these squiggly waves, he imagined the waves transitioning into fancy sparks to become sea waves as they traveled through a tunnel in his brain— undergoing some electrical transformation.

As the waves transformed from electric signals, they began pounding against a wall in the brain and crashed through an exit, like breaking through a gate–passing through the entryway of the mind…

Surely, within his brain—the deluge of a flood—perhaps breaking into full-blown delusion.

The Gate

As he continued breathing,  he saw a red sea in his mind’s eye— what the agents had referred to as the Sea of Meaning…where every thought throughout history was said to drain in the form of blood droplets. The sea was a mixture of water and blood or every thought throughout history.. from every brain throughout history… The thoughts or brain collected from the brain were stored in the blood droplets mixed in with the sea water.

He observed this wave in his mind, rolling, thrashing. His breath having transformed into that howlin’ wind was pushing this wave along–going in the direction of an island with a rocky shore.  A cast of ravens flew above.

Arrival to the Island–Mind and Geography

The wave splashed on a glistening, golden spider’s web, dispersing into several red droplets. Lon T. Ranger focused on each one, seeing that some had stuck on the golden spider’s web—while others splashed to the ground, seeping past the roots of a tree…

“That’s the tree of Life, Ranger. Glad you could come here to Self-Island.” The voice piped from from the web. Straight away, the mind’s eye of Lon T. Ranger darted straight to a golden-orb weaver, this species also referred to as the Writer’s Spider, tapping her legs as she sat on her web, “the weather has been sunny as a result of getting so many of the right waves, hasn’t it, Rumple?” In turn, the mind’s eye of Lon T. Ranger saw his friend.. Rumpelstiltskin behind the spinning wheel.. though in this vision, he did not have the same cheery disposition as he did that night he saw him in human form as a dwarf. Here, he took on the proportions befitting an imp– an otherworldly, almost ghastly pale form with pointed ears and a frown. Quite eerie.

Similarly.. Lon T. Ranger had recognized the Grandmother Spider—a central figure from the Hopi tradition.  Grandmother Spider was believed to weave together the universe with her threads.. It was a thrilling adventure seeing this pair of iconic characters on his vision quest.

“Don’t mind him…he’s been rather dreary after stomping his foot into the ground—which was it according to the Grimm Brothers?—he tore himself in half, falling into the earth, never to be seen again…  only until he was brought here by a wave after following the sound of his own signal..

“An irritating hum, it was…” Rumplestilskin said.

“Yes, it brought you here—and with your legs in tact”. the Spider replied.

Rumpelstiltskin shook his head, recalling a memory. His eyes pressed tightly. He looked to be in discomfort as he stood there rocking.

“As I fell into the hole, I found myself falling and falling through time.. amid pitch darkness.. whereupon I heard the signal.. an irritating , yet hypnotizing hum.. of which my ears followed, my eyes closed.  I was chained to this sound—following its motions as if I had no volition—I reached for my prized worms inside my pocket– the ones I’d use to send out as my unsuspecting spies… to slip and slide silently through the night, sensing feelings of woe in others—someone desperate enough to seal a deal with a strange man as myself to be saved by despair; blind enough to be binded to an agreement to provide what could –and should—be mine. Not a soul but the birds of the forest would be privy on my schemes—as they’d bear witness to my twilight chants around a fire. Yet, as I fell through this tunnel of mire. My magic seemed to have flown away from me..”nooo” “noooo…” I screamed.. my magic had abandoned me–just as the birds had fled from the branches many a time upon the shrills of my chants. In the tunnel, as I fell, I remained spellbound, my focus chained to that hum….

Then I remembered, the rules of the world from where I came…of rhymes and the power 3, and, suddenly, I landed atop a ground of soil.. my worms –my treasured pets– had not forsaken me but instead been forging a path to lead me out of the tunnel—which I’ve come to learn is a wormhole. My magic had remained. How I do not know. My hands, which had been so accustomed to the gift of spinning, now led me to dig up like a well-digger with all my might…
unaware of time’s passing,
unconscious of the cycles of day to night,
I sustained a fight..
through a tunnel
in which I’d been wounded,
in a cocoon
so tight.. …
following that hum…
to reach the end
where a light.
beaconed me to safety,
Only once I crawled out of the tunnel, did I notice my legs had returned,
And I crawled up through that tunnel..
I was brought up underneath a tree. My eyes fell upon a mushroom. I saw my worms had stitched a trail from my golden thread from the mushroom to a rose bush whose fragrance was sweet..
Just as I was about to pluck this rose in full bloom—a wave from the shore quickly came and swept me away
Bringing me to thee, my Lady Spider, on this island where I reckon I shall decay.

“I was waiting for you to help…..you think I could make this timeless web without you—one woven from the threads of two characters from the worlds of fairytale and myth? The threads must be woven from the magic of those two sorts of stories. Your wheel arrived here faster than you—as did your precious worms”. She used her legs to point to the spinning wheel and a thread dangling from spinning cups above the tree, “there is a worm at the end of that thread, like bait on a fishing pole. Sound familiar?” She seemed to be talking to Lon T. Ranger.

“You have no mercy on me… I went back again through time and dimension, taking on the form of a human myself, to hand a thread to this human over here—” Rumpelstiltskin waved his finger in the air, “and bring him to you. Let alone, giving him my thread—spun from the magic of my gift… to open a portal–  in exchange for a pittance. HMPH!”

It felt strange they both were talking about him like he was in a room.. as though he didn’t exist.. or did he? That was kind of how it was with this conversation occurring—through “a room in his mind. “..an’ I thought he liked me. That lil’ charlatan is a good showman.” Lon T Ranger thought, impressed, though his feelings a bit hurt.

“I brought him here… haven’t I? I’ve and fulfilled my dues….let him take care of the rest. Permit me go back through the web into a new reality where I can be free from the curse of my name. Never will I strike a deal again to harm another.. this I assure you.”

“I couldn’t let you go, even if you wanted. You know very well that it’s our destiny for us to finish this web. And there’s no redemption for you until we do.

“ARGHHH” Rumpelstiltskin protested.

“What an honor it is that the Inter-Routes has chosen us, Rumple. We, two timeless archetypes.. representing the symbolism and power of thread, take on life in the minds of humans—as one self–through a human’s retelling and rediscovery of us throughout time’s passage. At each age, we adapt new forms as humans continue to find us—while we embody new forms as we retain our essence of who we are.. why, it’s a story’s retelling of us that keeps us alive.. it’s how we remember who we are.. and that we even exist..as thought forms—in physical worlds that humans inhabit–—our very existence depends on the sharing of stories by humans on the third dimensional plane.

“Curse stories! They keep me…trapped in a weary existence. Each retelling of my story has me reliving the moment of tearing my legs, losing my power and falling through time–…it is due to the human and their story that I wish to cease to exist!”

“It’s all part of your plan, which I again remind you that you know very well, Rumple… and once this web is spun, I assure you, you will be free. The web serves as the entryway to the Inter-Routes. And through this Web others will realize who we all are. The essence of who we truly are. Besides, it’s part of the plan.”

“Will I get to go to the Inter-Routes too?”

“No…”

“Then what is the point!?”

“The point is to discover who we all are and to be led to the Treasure.”

Right as Rumplstilskin was about to open his mouth—and agitated he appeared– Lady Spider quickly turned, resuming to talk to Lon T. Ranger.

“Now, Lon T. Ranger—I must say—you’re only here for a short visit. it’s time for you to embark on your real journey…. And find your way back here again. You’ve been hearing these signals for a while and seeing those agents….” Lady Spider then pointed to an empty birds’ nest on a branch of the tree. “this is the nest of the agents…from where those darling fledglings hatch—those agents are thought forms-like Rumple and myself,- or in other words, an archetype”.

How had human agents hatched from these eggs unless at their essence they were magical birds.. or could shapeshift and take on new forms like a sorcerer? Lon T. Ranger thought.

“Archetypes have a superpower allowing them to be seen in a variety of forms, they aren’t entirely defined by their form; but are defined by what they represent at their core. The fibre of who/what they are—or the kernel of a self. The form is merely a vessel holding that essence. I know, my own superpower seems to be mind-reading, doesn’t it?”

“Sure does.” Lon T. Ranger thought, but didn’t find any of the agents particularly “darling”, except for one agent whose badge had read, “the Innocent.. and who had been a shiny, golden-haired boy. Come to think of it, none of the agents had any names—all were based on only their roles and representations alone.

–The Innocent;
The Storyteller;
–The Inventor;
–The Alchemist;

 

-The Explorer;

She continued,

“But it’s time to figure out what it all means .. You came to the island, but you can’t obtain your Treasure just yet. You’ll have to learn the secret behind these waves and how they become the signals that make your Treasure underneath this island beat –in the first place. Your Treasure beating determines the sounds/signals you detect, like Rumple hearing the hum, or your hearing the crows”.

“As I had been the first to tell him meself, if you remember…. “ Rumpelstiltskin huffed with all the dignity he could muster–and I’d like to point out that I traveled across time to take on a form of a showman, in the disguise of a human–but that doesn’t seem to impress you–instead I have to bear this torturous existence..—and what for? For the purpose of telling a storyyy…..” Rumpelstiltskin said mockingly.

“Stories are how we all connect.” She said curtly. “Now, Lon T. Ranger, You’ve only come here to get an idea of how the waves arrive here at Self-Island and a brief idea of why—which is to either splash on my web to have the information contained in the wave’s droplets to crystallize and be woven into my web—to serve as an entryway  Inter-Routes—as my web symbolizes a story and stories are entryways into magical worlds– or seep past the roots of the tree—to be heard—as a signal in your mind—inciting in you a remembrance of who you are—your essence– and providing guidance on what to do. I’ll be sending you back to discover how the circulation of these waves connects us all across different timelines and dimensions—as well as the entire universe into a web and body”.

She stretched out her legs, using her legs like one would use fingers to count..

“Thus, you have two options—or two paths you can take— One, you can go through the Black Forest…seeing how the thread you tied around the worm is used to stitch connections, like nerves in a body–functioning as a tract for the circulation of signals and stories of both others and yourself.  These signals you receive in your mind will transmit like signals across time to other selves. This is all enabled by the portal you set up as well as many other components, which you’ll learn about on your journey. You will also learn how the archetypes/agents got there and why. You might say this is the preferrable route. Through this circulation, you will return to Self-Island and keep going back and forth until the Treasure reaches a certain frequency in its beating. Once the Treasure reaches the right frequency, you can gain access to the Inter-Routes through the Cosmic Web—as you will have learned the essence of who you are by then—which is the prerequisite of getting to the Inter-Routes.”

“Then, on the other hand then? Though, my dear Lady Spider, I’d like to point out that you don’t have one…what would be the second path?” Rumpelstiltskin said, smirking, as if he received some sweet revenge at returning a snub.

“Hush you… having 8 hardworking legs is more handy than having 10 useless fingers….now you get your fingers back to work and keep spinning. The magic behind the threads depends on your hands …”

“Now Lon T. Ranger, the other way would be following the way of the hidden crow up to the sky to learn more about how the workings of this island……Up there…” she pointed to the sky. I know it’s daytime..but the stars always shine.  The raven, Corvis, whose sounds led you here, are sparkling among an entire cast of stars.. though is tucked … you can’t see them. Need I say, Corvis is also an archetype?”

Then, in the mind’s eye of Lon T. Ranger, he saw all 8 of Lady Spider’s beady eyes twinkling.. she clasped her legs up to her chin.. scratching it.

“On second thought, though that path is always available to you—it’s better to wait till the right time to visit–as it’s part of the journey. Anyway, Lon T Ranger, which trail will you take?”

“I’m a man of common-sense. No matter what nobody says, including, Jed. So, I’ll go to the Black Forest, as it is the preferred route afterall..besides I don’t think I got a choice. The peppy Spider is pretty much telling me what to do. Now, try sayin’ that three times fast, Rumple, Hope you like Tongue Twisters as much as you like rhymes.”

Lon T. Ranger chuckled while Rumple gave him the stink eye. The showman seemed to take jokes better in person.

“Alright—off you go—see you next time..—and by that time, you’ll learn how you’re a character yourSELF.” Lady Spider said.

She winked one of her eight eyes, whispering to Rumpelstiltskin… “shhh…. he’ll find out he is a character—and have his entire reality transformed, just as it’s supposed to be. It’s part of the plan.” She lifted a thread on her web, much like lifting a handle to open a gate.

“Huh—just how am I a character? before Lon T. Ranger could receive any answer or flash of insight—he saw a massive wave coming to sweep him away. Amid the roar of the wave, he could hear Lady Spider shouting, “The Cosmic Web allows you to access different realities.. the Cosmic Web is a gateway since it represents a story…. toodle-looooooooooooo!”

The Black Forest

Before Lon T. Ranger even could fully process that he might be a character—or exactly what was happening——he found himself experiencing a strange case of whiplash.

While he’d seen all the events in his mind’s eye, he was now beginning to question his entire sense of reality. He could have sworn that he’d seen a sea wave crash through the tree before him in plain sight. His focus had snapped back to his physical surroundings in the woods. His eyes wide open.

“Things can’t get any weirder. I might as well jus’ get used to it. Yep, I’ll keep my pants on.” He was patting his trousers, ensuring the imaginary wave hadn’t taken them away. He was relieved to find they were on. Trying to catch his breath, he asked, “what’s next?”

He noticed a change in these woods. It was the same tree he’d been standing in front of before embarking on the vision quest—and it was still dead. However, there was a looming darkness around him. Had the time of day changed? Moments ago—everything overhead had been bright—even before embarking on the vision quest, it had been nearly mid-afternoon. Now, it was almost pitch dark with an owl hooting in the distance and the forest consisting of a greater variety of trees. Pines, ferns, oak, birch, and spruce.

“The Black Forest… am I in another dimension?”, he thought.

Strangely enough, there was also now a mysterious black bag at the base of the tree. He’d never seen anything like it before—as it wasn’t from his time period.

“Closest I’ve seen is a trunk on a steamboat… or the leather suitcases them French or moneybags carry.”

He reached for it—curious and even slightly suspicious as he snapped open the buckles and reached for the contents inside the briefcase.

To his delight, he pulled out a book–bound in brown leather.. “Hey—I got myself a copy!” He cheered, opening the Manual… the same book the agents would bring each time they appeared.

The chapter he opened—was a bunch of cards, all empty except for one..

 

“Verification of fingerprints needed to check if Self is authorized to access hidden knowledge….Press hands on tree…”

“Touching a tree? Why?”

Yet he abided.. pressing his entire palms onto the tree…”hope I’m doin’ this right..”, his palms felt the roughness of the dead bark.. recalling what the indigenous storyteller agent had told him.

“Trees contain great wisdom…and are the secret keepers of the earth. Through their presence, you can breathe as they produce oxygen .and in them can find them a true friend. Trees are the record keepers of time.. across all ages… ”

As he recalled these words—new text mysteriously faded into the cards, as if a seamless continuation of the Storyteller’s words.

 

“Trees are storage centers.. to understand what that means.. go to next card.

“Let’s see what this is about..” Lon T. Ranger thought, pulling a new card from the stack.

The card read,

You opened a portal by tying the golden thread to the metal pole and around the worm who stitches connections between minds throughout time. The thread acts as electric wiring, working with the mushrooms in the forest as they contain tracts, known as mycelium, which act like nerves in the human body. Your worm that’s wrapped with thread will receive special kinds of information through that very thread and will know where to go. Read next card.” Lon T. Ranger abided.

Next Card: The Black Forest houses trees from different realities and this thread intersects with trees on different routes cutting through history. Routes are known to be the crossroads of humans…for they are means of passage for humans throughout time. If the threads and mycelium combined together are like the nerves—then these routes transporting humans are like arteries–and veins. Read next card.”

Lon T. Ranger: “Will do.”

Labels in Above Diagram:

Below Left: A tree that witnessed the dinosaurs

A tree that sprouted in 300 BC

A tree from the realm of fairy tales

 

Below Right: View of Arteries/Veins

View of Nerves

Circulatory and Nervous System Combined

Next Card: Rumor has it that the Black Forest is the symbolic birthplace of fairy tales in the western world—while history marks it as the original production site of Cuckoo clocks—crafted by master clockmakers to mark the passage of time. In the case of the Inter-Routes, the Black Forest represents the collective unconscious—which per scholars (like Carl Jung), denote a hidden part in the mind shared by all humans containing hidden knowledge and where universal symbols and stories are stored. Fairy tales are the most primordial form of stories. Go to next card”.

Next Card: “The worm is in the process of stitching right now… take a look..”

Lon T. Ranger looked for his friend, (not Jed, for Lon T. Ranger was for the time being distracted). He couldn’t immediately find the worm— until he sifted through the leaves on the ground, clearing a patch and saw little, golden stitch marks in the soil. “Go to next card.”

He again lifted a card from the Manual.

It read,
“The connections in the brain and the trails the worm is in the process of stitching are known as circuits. These stitch marks lead to the mycelium tracts from the mushrooms that connect deep to the roots of the trees throughout the Black Forest–from tree to tree.. What happens is the worm transmits the information it receives from the thread to the mycelium tract of a mushroom—a mushroom will then convey that to a mother tree in the forest that will use the mycelium tracts to convey information to the other trees like an information highway.. or brain. The worm is always in search of the next mother tree which will assist in the dispersion of information. Take a look at the stitches your worm is making.. and how it leads to the mushroom underneath the tree.”

Photo taken from: Underground Networking: The Amazing Connections Beneath Your Feet – National Forest Foundation (nationalforests.org)

Lon T. Ranger’s eyes followed to mushroom at the base of the tree…“Goodness.. if any hashish fiends were here, they’d go crazy for this thing. What am I supposed to do?”

“Pluck the mushroom.”

“Ok—but I ain’t gonna eat it.” He responded.

He followed the instructions, plucking the mushrooms to see the worm had connected a golden thread to a white, feathery substance underneath the mushroom. “Must be the mycelium”, he thought.  He picked up another card.

“Congratulations! Identity has been verified…As a result of worm’s connection with the mycelium, a wormhole or connection has been established between trees to reveal a circuit. New trail has been revealed… go to other side of tree to see.”

Lon. T. Ranger rose and peeked behind the tree.

Surely, there was a trail. It looked to be a trail of breadcrumbs that someone had tossed on their way somewhere—but on closer look—they looked more like potato chips.. just the kind he loved to munch.

 Video Chips

“Well, looky here, what on Earth? These are the very chips I like. Seeing one of my favorite treats as a trail of breadcrumbs sure does remind me of the tale of Hansel and Gretel..  hope I ain’t being planned to be fattened by a hag.”

The tale of Hansel and Gretel was another one of Lon T. Ranger’s favorite fairy tales. In it, two siblings named Hansel and Gretel had been driven off from their home and left in the middle to the woods by their evil stepmother who claimed that food at home was scarce and there was no means to feed them. She managed to convince the childrens’ father to leave them in the woods, arguing that someone would surely find them and take them as one of their own; the father reluctantly took his children into the woods, leaving them. To find their way back home again, Hansel dropped a trail of breadcrumbs behind him as they had been walking to the middle of the woods.

Once the children were left, to their dismay, they discovered that the birds had come and scooped up the breadcrumbs they had left behind–—leaving Hansel and Gretel no other choice but to resume their journey and be led by a dove to a cottage made of treats.

Their excitement soon ceased once they realized that the cottage’s inhabitant was a witch who had intended to fatten Hansel up..and eat him.

Surely, the story resulted in a happy ending, with Gretel pushing the witch into the oven to rescue her brother… and herself. Once she freed her brother from the cage in which the witch had locked him, the siblings discovered a vase full of Treasure, including precious stones.

A white duck (swan in some versions) ferried them across an expanse of water, and at home they found only their father; his wife having died from an unknown cause. Their father had spent all his days lamenting the loss of his children, and was delighted to see them safe and sound. With the witch’s wealth, they all live happily ever after.

Just to be safe, and not be baited by a “hag”, instead of reaching for the chip, he reached for another card that read, “to examine chip, reach for magnifying glass in briefcase.” Lon T. Ranger reached for a magnifying glass and on closer examination, the yellow chip revealed nothing different than what he and Jed would fry together, these treats originally referred to as “Saratoga chips”. To read how they were mistakenly discovered, click here..

 

“I wonder if they taste just as crisp…” he thought, brushing off the dust and took a bite. Lon T. Ranger wasn’t a germophobe given that in the wild, he couldn’t afford to be—as he had to build up fortified immunity to survive as well as he had all these years.

His eyes and taste buds lit up on the first crunch, “they taste just the same! Yee-haw!” Yet, only after the passing of a few seconds, he began to regret it his decision. He reached for a card.

“A chip malfunction will be experienced if chewed… kindly resist the urge to “byte..”

His stomach was surely aching now. “Owwwwww”, he wrapped his grumbling belly for comfort. It must have been no different than the way the volcano which he was near (if he was still around the area of Mount Shasta within this dimension in the Black Forest) was grumbling under the earth.

“Ain’t there a cure? I don’t want to respond to any call of nature.”

He lifted another card, reading.

“Pick up the magnifying glass in your briefcase…and place lens over next chip. DON’T BYTE…”
Juggling between trying to comfort the ache in his belly with one hand—and using the magnifying glass to observe the chip, he almost began to forget his pain upon laying sight on the most peculiar thing he ever saw. It was like a glimpse into time.

He quickly lifted a card for more explanation, “the moving footage you are seeing is referred to as a “video”. The chip you are observing is a video chip. Keep watching the clip—or chip.”

Considering that moving footage, or referred more archaically as moving pictures, wouldn’t be invented until about 39 years later, seeing this “video chip” for the first time was a real “treat” for Lon T. Ranger—especially as it was in color.

He eagerly brought the magnifying glass over the chip, curiously watching “two colorful bobbin’ heads”

To see what Lon T. Ranger was watching, play here—

 

After the video was done, Lon T. Ranger reminisced, “Well, look at that… those two are just the best of friends.. it jus’ warms my heart…I wonder where they went…”

Then suddenly he remembered–at the growling of his stomach.

“Where’s Jed?!

Looking for Jed

Lon T. Ranger shut the book, with cards falling out. He bolted out of the woods towards the edge of the stream—finding only the slow-moving water and ripples of moonlight. All else aside from the frantic echoes of his screaming, “JED! JED!” and ambling water were silent.

He didn’t see the tent they’d been camping in, either. Could Jed have moved back to the cabins of the gold rush town where they sometimes stayed? “That’s it—I’ll run there”. Even if Jed hadn’t gone there—perhaps someone could have seen him. As Lon T. Ranger was running in the direction of the town, he tried blocking out thoughts of Jed having been mugged, ambushed, or he shuddered to think—killed. Jed wasn’t well equipped to fight. In many ways, he was so helpless—infantile even—-and it had been that way since they were kids.

As he held the briefcase running, with the Manual in the other hand, more and more cards began flying. One smacked his face, covering his eyes like a blindfold—as if demanding him to read. He paused, heaving, trying to bring his focus as he read.

“Upon entering the Black Forest, one is technically in between time and the mind…one has exited the previous reality one they were in.. and entered a new one despite some commonalities in scenery with their previous world. There is no going back to it unless one returns to the Cosmic Web again”.

“OK, Easy–let me return to the pipe and breathe through it to go back to Self-Island.” Lon T. Ranger thought, “the Spider will redirect me back to the previous reality through her web”.

As he was turning back around into the Black Forest, a card fell conveniently into his hand.

“We regret to inform you that the waves being sent are unable to sync (modulate) with your brain waves due to disturbance in your thought activity. Thus, the portal that has been set up will not work in connecting you to Self-Island … unless you retrieve assistance in releasing a wave to receive a signal.”

Labels in diagram above read: Problem No access to Self-Island

Solution–For access, help needed to receive new wave(s)

“How do I get help?” he asked. He pulled out another card, shakily.

“The intent of sending you through the Cosmic Web to the Black Forest was to establish the connections and electrical circuitry to have cosmic intelligence (in the form of signals and story) flow through the threads and mycelium. This would allow information to be stored in the trees—and would similarly allow their retrieval from the trees—allowing for this hidden information to be accessible to all humans on earth and across multidimensional timelines. Go to next card”.

He pulled out the next.

Card: This is all made possible by having these threads connect, or stitch, one’s inner and outer world. The fact that everything in the Universe connects like a web and body will enable you to connect with others across different timelines. From here, you can obtain their help in the release of a wave to become a signal that will have you accessing the Cosmic Web. As you already saw, through the “video chip” that there are technologies in the future unavailable to you at the present time. There are individuals you can connect with now to assist in the release of a wave to become a signal as you are all one within the System of Self. This will help in you being redirected to the Cosmic Web—and from there you can return to your reality—then be redirected to the Inter-Routes along with those future selves—also called Cosmic Travelers. You all will be navigating the main circuit which can split into many paths. They are simultaneously reading these cards with you from the future”.

 

Psst.. For your Eyes Only… Don’t tell Lon T. Ranger 

 

“I’m not sure I understand—how do I talk with these future selves? Where do I find them?” He asked.

Lon T. Ranger’s stomach growled like a volcano—perhaps it had been growling all this time and he just hadn’t noticed as he’d been experiencing “disturbance in thought activity”.

“Oh nooo, not again”. To comfort his stomach, he was bringing his hand to his belly, noticing a card poking out from his trouser pocket. He reached for it.

Card: “Mirrors are also portals—and an effective means in communicating with other selves if an initial form of circuitry has been set up from one portal to another—and in this case, it has. Through the portal you have set up with your electric rod from Mount Shasta using Rumpelstiltskin’s thread, you can now reach other selves across time, if they have a portal as well—and in this case, you’ve enabled other selves to reach you. Again, the specifications are that to communicate with other selves through portals, there must be a circuit and a portal on the receiving end.”

Lon T. Ranger looked at the ground, observing the worm’s activity. For a moment, Lon thought the worm had stuck its tongue, or stylet at him teasingly, as it dipped back into the soil and went further into the forest—leaving a trail of stitch marks behind it. He picked up another card.

“The worm is in the process of.. connecting everything like a body.. Just use a mirror to connect to other selves—as this is the technology available to you within the reality in which you currently are.”

“Mirror? Portal? Where am I going to find a mirror? Wait a….” Lon T. Ranger patted his pocket, remembering the shards of glass he had collected from the explosion of the mirror. He reached inside his pocket, taking out the handkerchief in which he’d been carrying its fragments; the same handkerchief he’d used to safeguard the thread.

He scrambled the pieces in his palm, attempting to make them as whole as he could.

“I’m insane for doing this”, he thought, but “I’ve done worse, that’s for sure. “Hello? Uhh.. can anybody hear me? You’re probably seein’ my face chopped up in pieces—then again, accordin’ to all this System of Self talk, we appear to be pieces of each other. How can the others or ya’ll be hearin’ me?”

“The others do not need a mirror to hear you.” The card responded. “They are able to see and hear you through an invention in their time called a website..”

“So uhh.. listen … listen.. this technology bizness ain’t something I’m really familiar with but… Jed may be a pain the hind… but he means an awful lot to me an’ I’m awfully worried about him an’ if I don’t get him back then his wife Lorraine will kill me… so you wouldn’t mind helpin’ me release that wave, will you? I’m sure we both can figure out what to do…Look.. I’m an expert guidesman…an’ I’m sure we can figure out walkin’ these trails, or main circuit or whatever it’s called together. I even got this book here to help us.”

 

He pulled out the next card from the Manual.

Card: “Other selves also have access to the Manual… and you both have access to different chapters..” “The other individual(s) or selves will be able to watch the video chips to understand what to do and will have access to their own Manual”.

“The other self the card is referring to seems to be you.” Lon T. Ranger said, “An’ ain’t that great that we both have the Manual? We’ll tell each other what we find in the different chapters and put all them pieces together. I know how to navigate trails.. and we got them two bobbin’ heads…an’ I mus’ say.. they’re a lotta fun..So where do we start? Let’s see the next card..”

Card: “The other selves will have the option of going through two paths.. directly starting on the main circuit or going through the stories on the Black Forest—reading events more “linearly”; however time is not linear—thus, which path the other self chooses to take will not affect how soon you can reach your previous reality–or the Inter-Routes together”.

 

   

         

Card: The worm is continuing to stitch connections within the Black Forest.. not only does the Black Forest represent the collective unconscious but also the Peripheral Nervous System of the System of Self, which is equivalent to the Peripheral Nervous System of the human body–which is the means through how the brain communicates with the rest of the body.

“Okay.. now that’s interesting. What’s the difference between the two trails?” Lon T. Ranger pulled out a card.

Card: “The difference is in going through the Black Forest (or PNS) is that they’ll be reading stories as their primary form of instruction and have some trails of breadcrumbs. They will have to inevitably switch over to the Main Circuit to join you in releasing that wave for it to become a signal. On the Main Circuit—they’ll be reading instructions, stories (as a secondary form of instruction) AND have you as a guide…they will also be able to switch over to the Black Forest (PNS) later. Disclaimer: BOTH PATHS INVOLVE MUCH READING—and both involve collecting clues–yet feed into one another.”

 

“This sounds good to me”,  Lon T. Ranger replied, “an’ if we get that Treasure beatin’ at the right frequency … we won’t even have to worry about splittin’ any Treasure 50/50 because we’ll be getting’ to the Inter-Routes as one body—or self—an’ pick Jed along the way, of course. The trails are all split but they always seem to conjoin. How do we start on either path?”

 

 

Card: Path 1: For the other Self to begin, you can assist them in authorizing their identity to read stories within the Black Forest which will perhaps answer many of their questions.

 

“Okay.. looks like if we authorize your identity, then you will be able to take that path–..but what about if they want to take the Main Circuit—ya know, to help a brother out in order for me to help my friend out and release a wave?”

 

 

Card: Path 2: “If they choose, they can read their own cards from the Manual on the Main Circuit and assist you in releasing the wave. ”To access Main Circuit.. other self can simply click the button displayed and.. then follow the instructions written on screen. They always have the option to locate you—by clicking  “

“Can they also get to path 2 or the Black Forest from there..?” Lon T. Ranger asked.

Card: “From the Main Circuit, they can they go through the Black Forest..yet once they get to the Black Forest.. they’ll have to make it through some parts on their own. Regardless of which path they take, will surely return to assist you in returning to your previous reality—and then switch over to the Inter-Routes–if you can make it…”

“Looks like I can only accompany you through the Main Circuit, so if you choose to go through the Black Forest—or… I’m unsure if I can even say it—Peripheral Nervous System, then all you got is your own wits in readin’ and watch them breadcrumbs left by the bobbin’ heads named—was it Amar and Pro?”

 

Lon T. Ranger’s stomach grumbled..

“Oh nooo, not again”. To comfort his stomach, he was bringing his hand to his belly, noticing a card poking out from his other trouser pocket. He reached for it.

“Whoops.. hope you didn’t hear that.. uhh.. sorry, my stomach has been wonky after eatin’ a chip. Speakin’ of which, there are quite a few of these chips—whatever ya do, just don’t eat’em!– so looks like all we gotta do is have you watch these too… I don’t got a clue how you can see them in your dimension..”

 

 

 

A card mentioned: “If the other self wishes to see the trail of breadcrumbs to verify whether they are taking the proper path, they can click this icon” ”

His stomach growled again…Lon T. Ranger was embarrassed.

“Ok, so looks like there’s something you can click that looks like this.” Lon T. Ranger said, pointing to the icon on the card, continuing, “Now, I ain’t a pushy person..  an’ I realize that this time thing ain’t linear—so looks like, I’ll just be waitin’ for ya to decide on where ya want to go.”

 

 

Elixir of Life

Grumbleeeee….

“Ok—is there not a cure for this stomach ache?”

 

 

Card: “The Cure for your stomachache is the Elixir of Life. The Elixir of Life will help in stomach indigestion—and data ingestion–“.

Lon T. Ranger: “Isn’t that what the Alchemist had said? How do I get myself a cup of that faster? I really need it..”

Card: “The Elixir of Life shall be attained upon the beating of the Philosopher’s Stone –or Treasure–, as you know it, at the right frequency.. and for that the other self must release the wave. The reader will however obtain clues on the Elixir of Life more quickly in the Black Forest. However, another self won’t bring you back a cup. You must obtain the Elixir of Life together, as one Self.”

Lon T. Ranger whistled, “Well some of that gurglin’ and pain could be eased if I jus’ knew how Jed was. Since these cards seem to be good at answerin’ my questions, can they tell me how Jed is— an’ if he’s alive??”

In place of anything with text on it, he pulled out a blank card..

The tension was mounting despite all attempts at trying to keep calm.

“Where’s an answer when you need it?” He said–even his stomach went silent for a moment.

“ Anyway, I figure it means it’s time to act. I’ll be waitin’ for ya to make your decision.. which path will ya take? I’ll support whichever choice ya choose.”

 

 

TO GO ON MAIN CIRCUIT AND HELP RELEASE WAVE, CLICK NEXT BUTTON BELOW (or if on expanded view, close out of this text and click the Next Button below).

TO GO ON BLACK FOREST AND UNLOCK MORE STORIES, CLICK HERE

 

Before you proceed though… you may want to watch the following video on the Elixir of Life: