The Wine & Cheese Miracles … an Atlas Tweeted caps what’s been a Blitzkrieg of English
upon a globe’s nonfictional dialog … nightmarish!

After Greek, English is only the world’s 2nd lingua franca. A rich vocabulary and easy
rhymes are at home in song, psalm, prose … or poetry.

The richest tongue (by word count) owes its extreme wealth to heavy
borrowing from other tongues and the quirks of His timing … uncanny.

To wit: There are more English-speaking Chinese than Americans; perhaps more Chinese wits
than Americans know a twit from a tweet. Tweet it!

Tweet is commonly understood, but twit? Twits are taunts. To twit is to titter
or taunt. Hmm. Curiously, our host is Twitter … not Tweeter.

Why Twitter and not Tweeter albeit an intriguing riddle isn’t the point. It’s that Nelson’s legacy
calls for reconciliation … immediately.

George Bernard Shaw once wrote, “Some see the world as it is and ask, “Why? I see
the world as it ought to be and ask, why not?” We ought wisely emulate
that attitude as it is more our learned conduct and less our nature that may key,
our belated … fate.

Super-sized capabilities are tantalizingly within our reach. What if we
asked of ourselves “what if” a whole lot more often than we
do? Were we to do so and then follow through with affirmatively
reinforcing action … that’s the vision … nutshelled.

What if? What if a whole bunch of folks were, actually on the same page at the same
time? Acting in concert. Uh-huh. Waccha sellin’ Art?
Glad you asked; we’re selling asking “What if?” We’re selling there’s a lot in a name.
The Wine and Cheese Miracles is … a good place to start.

The Crew’s selling that since making money’s honey and lots of people want but to do
everything that’s ever been done under bodies
heavenly, souls drift and causes beg. What if The Wine and Cheese Miracles show how to
begin to act … much more … proactively?

What if a whole bunch of folks actually act upon what is read hereinafter?
What if a whole bunch of folks actually act, not
on impulse but upon conviction? The Crew’s selling that even amusement defers
to conviction … in marketers’ … argot.

The Crew’s selling that the wisdom of ages, past and present, is thankfully,
priceless as it is, practically freely
available. There is a wisely smarter way to run this planet. Regrettably
though … change oft is … revolutionary.

Oh what a specious species are we! Scant resources have the haves and have-nots
half nuts; the ever worsening plight of the have-nots
and crushing economic pressure, on both haves and have-nots alike, promises lots
of holocausts anew between the haves … and the nots.

Alas, NaPoWriMo is over. However, there’s an exceedingly brilliant bright side to its termination;
for there is no good reason not to go on writing poetry, so emotive.
Accordingly, Arthur and his inter-galactic critter pals may continue on their impossible mission;
a mission … so creatively … palliative.

In prayer, Art has asked God if he’s gone freaking mad? He’s asked about you too. Really,
who’s sane? Was only he, mad? Or, alternatively, are all of you, too?
Really surreal ironies, across the ages, are clues. Urantia, Casee, eerie
ancient lore … and more; all … are clues.

It’d all begun dreamily; a precursor plan, unceremoniously panned, was an event
that led to Art’s asking God for a sure Way to a movement, invent.
His spiritual intervention came nightly in Arthur’s dreams and meant
that a Crew, in dreams, easily … came … and went.

A wretch fully as wretched as Paul and as regretful as Augustine, Arthur’s dreams
implausibly brought him some critter friends to make a silk purse out of a
sow’s ear. With the help of His spiritual intervention, in nightly dreams,
they conjured there … chachomanopapa.

Who, or what, is chachomanopapa? Chachomanopapa’s a means to an eminently desirable end.
Viral, not physical, it is less a who, than
a what. Moreover, it’s many things. One is a symbol of an idea whose time is at hand,
amongst them questions like, “What’s the plan … Stan?”

Chachomanopapa’s every two syllables are the Spanish diminutives for, boy, brother
and father, fashioned into an evocatively provocative single
word. The transcendences we undergo from boys to fathers and from girls to mothers,
mirror our lives… our challenge-laden crucibles.

Chachomanopapa’s meant to both noun and verb be; to be both that place on the net
where we’re reborn, learn, earn, and transcend to views that come
into view, from atop the mountaintop from atop which Dr. King (who can forget),
dreamt of a world more like … His Kingdom … come.

Notwithstanding implausibility, the Crew knew exactly what to do, when to timely
do it, and how best to do it. Art gaped, dumbfounded. “See …”
they said, “… what you’ve done is good; for very good, expand it artfully, into epic poetry.
Write something honoring our Almighty … to forge … (wo)man’s destiny.”

On this final day of #NapoWriMo, a breaking headline; no stay … of execution;
no stay of execution; not for Oklahoma inmates; not for us;
nor for Afghans, Iraqis, Syrians and, most recently, the Ukrainians.
But it’s a new day. We are one … all seven billion … of us.

Seven billion or so of us are, along with Mother Earth and all of its denizens, one.
So, once upon a time, God googled a gaggle of six inter-galactics,
giving them a seemingly impossible mission; to tweet (wo)mankind into submission.
How on Earth would Allah/God/Yahweh have the tweeters do it?

“What ten words do you bequeath?” each inter-galactic was e-mailed, identically.
All were from a resident at bliss dot com. Surreally,
upon each not finding any resident there but implausibly, only
each other, over wine, cheese and the net was a Council born … dreamily.

The six surmised He would have them tweet, to blog, to write, a nonfictional,
fiction. And so they wrote The Wine and Cheese Miracles
… An Atlas … Tweeted. While dreaming, tweeting, blogging and drafting The Miracles;
they discovered … secrets … alchemical.

And so came to pass upon Milky Way dreams that delightful interchanges ensued;
the setting; cyberspace; the pressing subject matters;
education, peace and prosperity. Six lives intertwined when somehow so summoned,
the subjects … on cue … all dreamed together.

In Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria and now in the Ukraine, proudly inveterate nationals
reprise the Holocaust, unconsciously committed to the proposition,
that ‘never again’, be forever, again and again. To wit, Gog, a Russian national
stars in the chachomanopapa blog … of a fictional … nonfiction.

Acculturation, the modification of the culture of individuals
or groups through prolonged contact with different cultures
has, up until recently, been a rare phenomenon. The internet’s potential
to acculturate … surely … is treasure.

Acculturation’s a natural process, not readily appreciated in the absence
of an expansive perspective, as, for example,
from the Creator’s point of view. In His view, irrelevant is difference,
but indifference is … abominable.

Time for Global Truth and Reconciliation; whether you think we
can, or whether you think we can’t, you’re right, absolutely!
And so, The Wine and Cheese Miracles; prose, poetry, tragedy and comedy;
nonfiction, posing as fiction … ironically.

In poems melding Ovid’s and Emily’s; (wo)men about change, otherworldly
visionaries ask of you: Of what good are borders and nationalities?
From a nonfictional dream, a poetic and prosaic tragi-comedy,
and prophesy too, for prediction … is prophesy.

Arthur prayed to his deity, He of the Jews, Christians and Muslims;
praying he’ll find … the missing Bohemians.
Allah, Jehovah/God, Yahweh as if answered in dreams: , “Tweet to the denizens,
a blog and a book. Write … to your global co-citizens”.

And so, inspired by Arthur and Emily, Arthur wrote a fiction, non-fictionally.
This tribal nation-state thing is untenable … undeniably.
“To be … or not to be ….” So wrote the great Willy. It’s past time we
take a page from that play and ponder its implications … wisely.

The title and eight verses that follow are taken directly from
the manuscript of The Wine and Cheese Miracles.
It’s co-authors fancy its pages as fictional nonfiction,
in itself … a miracle.

A DEDICATION … TO HUMANITY

Dedicated to a humiliatingly humbled humanity, the essence of every man, woman
and child ever created in His Holy image;
more than any other word, it defines us. Ere we were African, we were human.
Knowledge and language, span our … stages.

Dedicated to a Mother Earth, desecrated; a God-given light, in a rock,
in a bubble, within a vast abyss, become by
His power, our home; become, by our ignorance, landfill, toilet, and earthenware crock.
Both Earth and humanity live, but to someday, by and by … die.

Dedicated to the ninety-nine percent, jumbled, who toil for scraps from the banquets
of the percent whom justify their entitlement
as God-given; and to those of the percent too, whom share the mindset that our planet
begs more sustenance, and less … armaments.

Dedicated to the exasperated one percent of us whom, to some degree,
worry re global prospects and/or work towards our
expiation; and to those of the ninety-nine percent too, whom, disconnected, see
not forests’ vastness, for trees that … tower.

Dedicated to the one hundred percent that are only apparently powerless
and may expand their carbon imprints … positively.
Dedicated to our individual purposes within God’s plan for us,
to duly evolve … spiritually.

Dedicated to a bigger picture that is, increasingly, coming into view
just as smaller pictures, seven billion plus surreal
realities, increasingly overwhelm us. Coming down to the wire, then, anew,
this roiling stew, our fate, does duly … seal.

Dedicated to communalism, a synonym of communism, a word heavy
with baggage. Call it what you will, working together
is the common-sense cure for what ails us. Reason, without more, shall never be
how best to get from here to … there.

Dedicated, therefore, gratefully as well, to all of the animal denizens
of this Animal Planet. Ought we not wisely learn
from the Jain, whom sweep as they walk, in rapt reverence of all of the denizens
in the circle of life. Ought we not … learn?

To: All having wisdom in the palms of their hands, but clutch it not, to their hearts
From: The Zoo Crew (aka, The Sexy Six, aka, The Council)
Re: Visions in Nutshells: A Proposal and Request for Further Proposals to start …
Date: Today and tomorrow, ‘til Kingdom comes, when it will

“… perchance to dream …” of what was, ought, may and shall be. The illustrious literati
of history: Plato, Aristotle, Socrates,
Shakespeare, Shaw, et. al., in occidental lands and their eastern peers, Lao-zi, Kong-fu-zi,
the first Buddha and Mahatma Gandhi …

… et. al., in oriental lands, were all men of flesh and blood. No God amongst them …
philosophizing wordsmiths … one and all. Such great men
eloquently speak to and for humanity about the burning question of whether then …
to be, or not … then … and now … and again.

So, it was to the sage words of our predecessors, often teachers, that the Council
has often turned, along, of course, with a trinity
of His Books, to offer humanity some last minute advice; arrange your affairs; little
pleased, is He. As we strew debris … He seethes.

That’s He’s understandably but little pleased is conjecture, true. Reflective of the
mutually shared conviction of the Council, it does
conjure too the precise words that were sent via electronic-mail (in dreams) to the
six Council members … That brief message was:

“What ten words do you bequeath?” Each had gotten an identical inquiry. All were
from resident at bliss dot com. Uh-huh. But before
long, upon each not finding any resident there but rather, each other, over
wine, cheese and the net … was the Council born.

Fancying testimony helpful toward soul-salvation on some mission completing,
the invite’s oddity (which had completely freaked out
each uniquely unqualified slacker), turned into allure. With calming wine advancing,
all agreed to seed … albeit … self-doubts.

And so came to pass upon Milky Way dreams that delightful interchanges ensued;
the setting … cyberspace; the pressing subject matters …
education, peace and prosperity. Six lives intertwined when somehow so summoned,
the subjects … on cue … all dreamed together.

Indeed we ought learn; and not just from the Jain and the Jesuits nor just from
prophets and peers. Ergo Arthur dreams
and he and his intergalactic dream weavers write of what’s dreamt … for from
dreams … dreamers … may realize … dreams.

Art’s thirty poems in thirty days are meant to plant a seed. Taken from the Council’s
manuscript, they’re a fair summary of the rest of the text.
Accordingly, NOW HEAR THIS: The rest of the Council’s proudly populist civil
manifesto is meant someday … to be a text.

The Wine and Cheese Miracles is a manuscript that begs all … “To be or not to be?”;
it is a question that is, as a plan in itself, an insightfully
wise way to inter-connect, to help, to get help, to learn, earn and prosper to be …
in peace. To so be … be … connectedly.

Given human nature and the irrational ‘rational’ interests that form the bedrock
principles that determine our international
policies there’s no reason to believe that greed, monopolies and corporate stocks
of the enfranchised … will be helpful.

For many it shan’t sit well. For many of the many, riches out of proportion
to equitable principles is all the birthright
that matters. Powers that be have always been; equitable redistribution …
aimed at righting wrongs … is wrong … alright.

So no one ought hold their breath awaiting presidential responses to what ought be
of utmost concern to everybody, everywhere,
not just Americans. What if we cast off blinders and opened eyes? Would we see
beyond trees, the forest? Shall we so … dare?

The Holy Scriptures, Rick’s tome respecting our individual purposes, Tony’s
on near instantaneous, positive changes in
conduct, Nelson’s Truth and Reconciliation Commissions and the Sexy
Six’s on kinship, auger, we may act … akin.

Rick and Tony eloquently potentiate a hopeful reality; for if destinies
individually may be purposefully
forged, ipso facto, so may we forge regional destinies. A global destiny
we may, by His Grace, forge … communally.

“What ten words do you bequeath?” A spookily cryptic question, electronically
mailed from a ‘resident’ at bliss dot com. Predictably,
no resident answered Arthur’s reply. Surreally, his co-authors did. Collaboratively,
over wine and cheese, the Council was born … dreamily.

Collectively fancying the salvation of their souls upon some impossible mission
completing, and mesmerized by the seemingly supernatural
nature of the inquiry, for each member of the astonished Zoo Crew, trepidation
turned into allure; wine and cheese … seemed natural.

And so it came to pass upon Milky Way dreams that an ambitious plan was formulated;
the setting … cyberspace; the pressing subject matters …
education, peace, and prosperity. Six lives intertwined when somehow so drafted,
the sexy six … on cue … all dreamed together.

Council member meetings over the years since 2004 suggest that the Scriptures,
the internet, our will, our numbers and our letters
united may be both remedy and means of transmission of that larger picture
whereby brotherhood … we better foster.

The sublime fact of the matter then is that whether or not we act wisely
going forward, where individual destinies
may be purposefully forged, ipso facto, so may we forge a collective destiny;
transcendence too … all the more grandly.

So, like forests unseen for towering trees, words, wondrous gifts we so wantonly
waste revealed to the Council that destiny equals
the letters of the internet times the numbers in nature exponentially
from a Scriptural base; an alchemic equation … to increase capital.

Re-characterizing alchemy in such a way may potentiate millions of dreams for prosperity;
accordingly the Sexy Six distillation of an apt answer
to the cryptic “What ten words do you bequeath?” inquiry is to “Forge destiny
with love, compounding history’s letters …

… through nature’s numbers.” An answer as accent, like the icing on a glorious cake, like
those from which we might delight of, in foreseeable futures;
to be or not to be, indeed? Accent your humanity, not your nationality unlike
our past history …. That’s the big picture!

Harder to write and to read than prose … however … poetry
expresses far more emotively
than one may ever aspire to … prosaically.
Poets: Masters of … irony.