Angels’ Play

Location:

Colibri Wharf, Headquarter Docks, Office Cloud Block, Gamma Hydra, Sector 14, Coordinates 22,83,7. Shared-Office Cloud of GA and TA.

Time:

Real-time CET, Thursday, 15 January 2020, 04:21

Players:

The place is packed with angels, saints and other cosmic powers. Giving a precise list of attendees would be impossible. All the actors (GA, TA, BG, DHL, SL and SC) and stakeholders from Upper Management—most of them in charge of collecting reports, evaluating performance and determining reaccreditation in the Guardian Angels Section—sit around the conference table. Even the bosses of TA and GA, St. Gabriel and St. Michael themselves, are present. From the Saints Section, Mother Mary (MM) is the highest representative. The Angel Union is represented by an untidy-looking Rafaelite in coveralls. BG is sitting at the head of the table, being in charge as chair.

Setting:

The big conference table has coffee, tea and soft drinks in the middle. At each place, the Script, the angels’ marching orders, an agenda, topic-related handouts, blinking electronic devices making weird sounds and all kinds of papers are piled up high. Around the table, many computer screens, flipcharts and whiteboards are covered with dynamic graphics and rising curves. Everybody is amiably chatting.

BG

(getting up from his chair and ringing softly with the little metallic peacock bell from Shantivanam)

My dears! Please take your seats. May I have your attention? I would like to start the meeting.

The chatter ceases.

Welcome to this meeting, which is, as you can divine from our illustrious audience, highly relevant headquarter business. Who will take the minutes? (a tiny Gabrielite sitting against the wall raises its hand) Thank you, dear.

You all have the agenda in front of you. Any objections to following it? (nobody raises a hand) Thank you.

On the 3D server in the middle of the table, which everybody can see simultaneously, the three pictures from the Berlin street session appear.

As you know, the project is ambitious. It is about a three-step integration of dualities on all levels: intrapersonal, interpersonal and systemic. I won’t repeat the details. You can check them in your handouts.

Our task here is to evaluate where we are with this three-fold objective.

Any issues? Critical remarks?

Swami Vivekananda and Sri Aurobindo are whispering to each other.

My dears, speak up, please!

Swami Vivekananda:

I have something on the issue of intrapersonal integration. There has been no progress here. How about a deep contemplative experience? Unio mystica and the like? In my opinion, the project still has a long way to go. (Sri Aurobindo nodding) Somebody experienced should see to that.

BG

(looking at the minutes-taking Gabrielite):

Yes, I see. Please note this down as a to-do. Anything else?

MM

(scanning the agenda):

We will come to the relationship issues later, right? I think there are still too many disparities to realise interpersonal unity between Gabriel and Tilda.

DHL wildly nodding.

BG:

Thank you, yes. You have certainly a point here. We’ll keep a note of this. What about Tilda?

TA

(struggling to stand up, still wobbly on its ankle, shamefaced):

We have flagged her on red alert (TA grimaces and shrugs its shoulders, and St. Michael points at it to take its seat again)

BG:

Oh dear! Can we have an update from medical, please?

SL

(getting up and starting his presentation, showing a few slides with his talk):

We have a severe case of personality disintegration. I will spare you the medical details of the diagnosis. Most of you are laypowers and won’t understand a word anyway.

BG:

That’s too bad. Anything else?

SL

(looking at St. Michael):

Errh, yeeesss. I have another announcement to make. However, the two operating angels should leave for that topic of the agenda.

TA and GA look up, insulted.

BG:

OK. Angels, please wait a few minutes in outer space. We’ll call you in again later. (GA and TA evaporate with frozen faces; BG impatiently turning to SL) Was that really necessary? What is it?

SL

(switching to the next slide with some colour illustrations):

We’ll have two new viruses on earth, and both will aggravate Tilda’s mental health problems.

One is called SARS-CoV-2, the disease from which is called COVID for short, for you laypowers. It’ll affect the lungs and other human organs. Highly infectious.

The other is called conspiracy theory and is likewise infectious. It affects basic logic, the capacity for perceiving empirical evidence and human reasoning. It increases their aggression potential exponentially.

The worst thing is when these two viruses combine. And this is what is prognosed for Tilda. Due to her personality disintegration, she might be very susceptible to an infection by a conspiracy theory combined with COVID.

BG

(trying to calm down the audience that has started bilateral discussions):

Silence, please. Goodness! This is really bad.

I see why you wanted the angels to leave. We need to bring this up to TA softly. Please, call those two back in.

GA and TA apparate again on their seats. They still look insulted but also very curious.

Can we have an update on the interpersonal relationship, please? DHL, any news to report?

DHL:

Not from my side. The sexual relationship idea was discarded and has been transformed into a medical healing story.

(disdainfully looking at SL)

They traded the warmth of sexual intimacy for a pain-free ankle.

MM

(supportively):

I think it was an elegant move to transcend the rather critical sexual issue, which had provoked so much trouble, into a healing story. No harm done.

DHL

(heatedly):

It’s always the same with these sexual ethics discussions at our meetings. They end in “no sex.” I don’t think this to be fair, given the topic.

(the Eastern powers trying to hide their approving smiles)

BG

(soothingly because discussions start again):

Tut, tut. Silence, please! OK, let’s move forward with the agenda. Next is the safe-space idea. How will it help to save the world from destruction? I will summarise it, myself.

Everybody is silently groaning. The elephants among the audience stereotypically start to rock, sway and bob their heads in psychological distress. BG uploads his presentation.

Do not fear; I’ll keep it short and understandable.

He goes through each case study in much detail, discussing all monasteries worldwide and their potential to become safe spaces. He is doing an extensive SWOT (strengths, weaknesses, opportunities and threats) analysis on each of them. Then he performs a network analysis and shows their expected contributions to world peace. After this, he expertly shows how science and spirituality can cooperate in realising the unity framework by building on the safe-space idea. Furthermore, he shows how autoethnography is the only approach to understanding the depths of cultural impact. He ends with a sound theoretical reflection on the bodies of philosophical and theological literature involved, focusing on the evolutionary theory of society. First, the audience tries to stay awake by drinking tea and coffee until all the pots are empty, and one after the other, they fall asleep.

BG

(ending his talk with a bow):

…And this led me to writing another script, on how to proceed from here, which I will distribute now to give you a short introduction and a complex learning experience…

He looks around sheepishly, everybody sleeps; even Swami Vivekananda and Sri Aurobindo are snoring, leaning against each other.

Postponed till next meeting.

BG rings the peacock bell. Everybody wakes up and riffles through their or its documents.

Summarising: We are happy with Gabriel and Tilda. They accomplished what they set out to do.

This would not have been possible without the invaluable work of our two operating angels here. Bravo! I hereby support their application for promotion, which is next on the agenda.

Can we vote? Who’s in favour of promotion? (Everybody raises a hand or likewise) Who is against? (Nobody moves) Who’s neutral? (Nobody moves) Thank you.

BG turns to GA and TA.

Congratulations! (Friendly cheering resounds from everybody; GA and TA blush)

Harrumph. Now, I need to mention a matter of personnel. TA will be assigned to another team. For now, this is for the next few months to come, but maybe this will become permanent (Everybody looks awkwardly at both angels, which are completely shocked). Nothing to do with performance. An Objective One issue. I am very sorry, myself.

Any other business? (Nobody moves) Well, thank you all very much for this constructive meeting! See you next time. The meeting is closed.

Video Nearly Killed the Radio Star

The plane landed in Frankfurt with a huge bump. Outside, the cold January morning was still too dark to see anything but the lights of the terminal building through a light drizzle of rain. Gabriel and Tilda hardly had the time to say goodbye because Tilda’s connecting flight to Berlin offered little time for the gate change; Gabriel was supposed to handle a few business matters for B1 in Frankfurt for a day, so he had to stay behind. But they were sure to take up their office life for the day after next anyway. So they only shouted their farewells, and Tilda rushed to reach her connection.

On the plane to Berlin, she finally read all the messages from Ken, who would fetch her from the airport. This way, she was a little prepared for what was coming. Seeing Ken standing alone with a single red rose and a sad face in the middle of the crowd at Tegel Airport made her heart sink. She had totally forgotten how familiar he looked, how good-looking he was and how much she loved him. “Why haven’t you messaged me even one time?” was the first question he asked. “I didn’t have an Internet connection” she lied.

What followed was an ordeal for her. Ken wanted to know everything, but she found that she couldn’t tell him anything. Words failed her. That made him even more furious. Faltering, she started to tell him about her temple visits and Indian cultural habits. She tried to talk about their adventures and what they’d learnt. “This is awful,” Ken stated. “You did things you would not have done under normal circumstances. All of this went against our life principles.” “But I did nothing wrong,” Tilda objected. “I think you did,” he said. “You betrayed your own beliefs on what’s important in life; you betrayed the values I share with you; and you betrayed me as a person by doing all these things with your precious Mr David.” “I didn’t betray you,” she desperately said. “I love you.” “Then, prove it!” Ken barked. “How?” she asked.

Ken had clear ideas on this. “Three things. First thing tomorrow, you will go on sick leave for at least six months. You’ll leave your fucking boss to his own devices with this bloody new project. You’ll simply stop doing it. You hear me? That will clear your mind.” Tilda slowly nodded. “The only contact I allow you to have with Mr. David is a few afternoon conversations to clarify with him how it came about that you behaved so uncharacteristically and therefore wrongly in India. You’re allowed to do what I would call archaeology of the individual. You may deal with the past and try to come to terms with it through revisitation. That’s all. Archaeology.” Tilda shook her head. “He won’t do that.” “Ask him,” Ken said. “That’s all he’ll get from you for the foreseeable future.” “For how long?” Tilda asked. “As long as I see fit,” Ken answered snappishly.

“And second?” Tilda asked. “Your so-called missing Internet connection—or, better, I should say your Internet abstinence, has held you back from what’s really going on,” Ken said. “While you were playing Shiva and Parvati with Mr David in India, I protested against the enslavement of people by the newest conspiracy of the elites. Haven’t you heard about the pandemic rules, mass vaccinations and lockdowns that they’re planning because of the new disease they’re calling COVID-19? These are the torture instruments of our dictatorial, reptilian government. For example, they want us to wear a muzzle, preventing free speech. I’m now part of Querdenken, a vegan protester group of mostly young people between twenty-five and thirty-five gathered around influencer Attila Hildmann. We all believe that the current political system has to be stopped because the politicians in power manipulate our thoughts. We are free thinkers standing up against authorities and willing to take action against them. There are no pandemics. This is just fearmongering.

Tilda was shocked. “Mass vaccination? Are you sure?” Ken nodded. He considered himself well informed. “Because of the politically changed legal situation in the IfSG Infection Protection Act, compulsory vaccinations are possible. Medical doctors specialising in immunology and toxicology in our Ärzte für Aufklärung network estimate about 80,000 deaths and estimate that over four million people will sustain vaccine injuries.” He showed her a leaflet with a crying child who just got an injection. “They want to use mandatory so-called virus tests to take a DNA sample of every individual for the European genome database.” “What do you want me to do?” Tilda asked. “I want you, as my second, not only to be part of our protester group but also to be one of its leading architects. This is to wake up stupid sheeple such as your Mr David. They should go to their slaughter in these fake pandemics or just wake up. For a start, I want you to write an article in Compact Magazine, which is one of our Querdenken outlets. This is a much better contribution to save the world than writing a work plan for this bloody project.” Tilda nodded.

“And third?” she asked. Ken scowled. “I want you to emotionally disconnect from Mr David. Totally.” “But I am disconnected,” Tilda protested weakly. “No, I want you to prove it to me. Annoy him. Undermine his confidence. Ruffle his feathers. He’s our enemy. Don’t forget that.” “How shall I prove my loyalty to you?” Tilda asked with pale lips, pale because she knew his vengeful and manipulative sides well enough. Kennie grinned. “We’ll troll him. For example, we can hack his Amazon account and buy stuff for him.” “What stuff?” Tilda asked. “Well, I have tons of good ideas! Objects that send little messages like ‘Go fuck yourself,’” Ken said menacingly. “Kennie!” Tilda screamed, appalled. He stared back. “Won’t you do this for me?” Tilda sighed.

The next morning, she started with Ken’s first requirement Ken. She went to her doctor, claimed burnout and phoned the B1 personnel department to give notice of her absence for the months to come. Then she phoned Gabriel.

“The trip to India shook up my private life, and there was—and still is—a lot to work through,” she explained. “What’s happened, Mrs Toelz?” Gabriel asked her. “I told Ken about the events in India, which put my relationship with him on shaky ground. There have been recriminations and admissions of guilt, and we’re still working through the situation,” Tilda said in a flat voice. “What guilt?” Gabriel asked, amazed. “I can explain in some afternoon conversations why I behaved like I did in India,” Tilda replied, tiredly but faithfully repeating what Ken had wanted her to say. “This is all that my boyfriend allows me to do. He calls it archaeology of the individual: dealing with the past and trying to come to terms with it through revisitation.”

As foreseen by her, Gabriel did not go for it. Instead, he entered into a philosophical discussion. “I’m not an object for excavation and dissection. I’m not a mummy, nor is our relationship. Archaeology indeed unearths things, but it is destructive. Every archaeological excavation leads to the destruction of the evidence. I won’t be available for such an exercise.” “But archaeology of our relationship will reveal what it was. It will re-establish honesty and truth between me and Ken,” Tilda retorted, defending the idea. Gabriel shook this off. “It’s probably possible to X-ray everything for complete forensic transparency. It might be possible to lock the internal state of the object under investigation in a finite description, having then the frozen inner impression of total transparency. You call this ‘honesty’? That ‘honesty’ is pure positivism: It means the accurate exact description of what is seen under the microscope. This only works because what is seen from the dissection table is dead. In any case, on the dissection table is something that is finished and completed, something about which we can find out the final ‘truth,’ something that we can honestly reveal information from and that can therefore be ‘understood.’ At some point, we’re done with it and put the results in a museum. It’s honesty; it’s stupidity!”

“But you are always the one doing this exegesis thing,” Tilda protested. “You revisited all these Bede Griffiths texts and our travel events for their meaning!” “This is something completely different,” he said. “Exegesis is the interpretation, illumination and explanation of something that is alive and moving. We are moving, as Teilhard de Chardin says. Exegesis creates something new. It deals with meaning. It deals with the future. It’s actually the counter-concept of what you have in mind with Ken’s archaeology of the individual.” “Where’s the difference?” Tilda asked obstinately. “And does it actually make a difference?” “It makes all the difference,” Gabriel stated. “In my opinion, your concept of honesty in a relationship is the problem. It lies at the heart of your feelings of guilt and the accusations that come from your boyfriend for allegedly breeching his trust. Your concept of the inner truth of a person is that this inner truth can be identified as a number of truth items that can be skewered like dead butterflies in a fossil collection. To reveal your inner truth to a person is like showing your butterfly collection to them. Archaeology of the individual would mean excavating your butterfly collection and taking a look at the dusty assembly. The same is true for what you mean by ‘knowing and trusting your partner.’ You have shown him your collection, and a trustworthy partnership means that your partner has been granted access to your collection at any time to check whether there are any changes, right? You call that transparency and trustworthiness.”

“And what’s wrong with it?” Tilda asked snappishly. Gabriel answered: “I reject your concept of inner truth, for a start. In exegesis, person and truth are secrets that can’t be fully understood and that are always moving into being. Even one’s own inner truth is a deep secret to themself. It can be approximated only with ongoing effort and never with full success. Within the play of light and shadow, of being and decay, of proximity and distance, of possibilities and constraints, one’s own inner truth is equally in need of interpretation and explanation as the truths of others, the truth of creation or the truth of salvation. We are never safe from surprise: Suddenly, there’s something instead of nothing; suddenly, something makes sense that did not make sense ever before; suddenly, an inner door opens; suddenly, a fog lifts.”

“Nice words,” Tilda said, “but where are their consequences?” “This has consequences on the meaning of honesty and the claims you can have or make in this direction,” Gabriel said. “Somebody who is a secret to themself and takes the secret of others seriously can’t convey transparency in your sense. It would simply be dishonest. They aren’t transparent, not even to themself. How could you mislead others to think you are? Honesty is only the honesty of the moment, of a special fleeting perspective on an inner transition—a momentary snapshot interpretation of an inner movement. If you really want to convey honesty, that would mean adhering to this fundamental nontransparency!”

“I don’t want to talk to you like that anymore. I want to have a clear conscience with Ken!” Tilda now shouted. But Gabriel was not yet done. “To lead others to believe in transparency is eyewash because you confront them with dead descriptions, which don’t hold, even from your own point of view. You try to fixate on something that can’t be fixated on just to calm yourself, to stabilise what can’t be stabilised. You pass on something to others that you’re unwilling to carry as a burden, yourself. Conscience can’t be ignored in this way: It would a kind thing to shelter others from this kind of egoistic would-be transparency and honesty.” “And what is your bloody suggestion?” Tilda asked, still shouting. “Are honesty, inner truth and a culture of sharing inner changes not values, in your opinion? Is it not allowed to demand them or strive for them in a relationship?” “Oh yes, they’re very important values,” Gabriel said calmly. “Here, I totally agree with you. Unfortunately, it’s very, very difficult to find somebody to share with and to expect somebody to bear the burden of sharing. Who can grasp the complexity that I can’t grasp, myself? Who can carry the nontransparency that I can’t carry, myself? Who can bear the honesty that I can hardly face, myself? It might sound strange: the plea to be understood, the plea expressing an original human need, can be heard and followed up on only by somebody who accepts fundamental nontransparency and the secret changes in the other person and who is willing at any time to affirm and support this change, even against their own interests.” “I understand that you don’t want to talk to me about the past,” Tilda said. “Then this is our last conversation.” With this, she cut the line.

Angels’ Play

Location:

Colibri Wharf, Headquarter Docks, Office Cloud Block, Gamma Hydra, Sector 14, Coordinates 22,83,7. Shared-Office Cloud of GA and TA.

Time:

Real-time CET, Ash Wednesday, 26 February 2020, 18:04

Players:

The two angels.

Setting:

A dark moonless night. The working cloud is very untidy. Gadgets, wires and boxes are wildly distributed over the place. In one corner, a heap of damaged weapons has piled up and looks like a scrapyard. The cloud looks desolate and in dissolution. TA is slowly and solemnly packing its gear.

GA

(desperate, sometimes hiding little things belonging to TA behind its back to slow down the packing process):

Are you sure? Do you really need to go? You can’t leave me all alone by myself. I need you. How can I go on without you?

TA

(not looking up from carefully placing a little green elephant into its decoration gearbox):

You heard Tilda. Objective One. She can do what she decides, and she’s done it. It’s her choice.

They look at each other disconsolately. Despite GA’s little acts of sabotage, TA’s packing is nearly done.

TA

(hoarsely):

I’ll go now. You’ve been good sports. Best of luck with the project.

After some awkward seconds, the angels start an embrace but shy away from it at the very last moment. TA abruptly turns away and evaporates into the dark night.

For a long time, GA silently stands alone on the fringe of the cloud facing the empty orbit. Nothing can be heard. Then somebody from the radio starts to play a song by Freddie Mercury.

To see how the AI FORA project Gabriel and Tilda were putting together during their travels worked out and what results were produced for the country cases mentioned, the reader is invited to consult the two social science publications in this series on “Artificial Intelligence for Assessment”. However, findings of the project will also be made available again in a novel format. The story will continue with “Playing Ball against Heaven’s Gate