INVOLUTION & EVOLUTION Joss Sheldon www.joss-sheldon.com Copyright © Joss Sheldon 2014 ISBN-13: 978-1500854706 ISBN-10: 1500854700 EDITION 1.0 All rights reserved. The chapters entitled '1897', '1899', 'A Prophecy', '1901', 'The Owl', '1902' and 'Mister Conqueror' may be reproduced without permission. This book (excluding those chapters listed above) is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior position of Joss Sheldon. Joss Sheldon asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work, in accordance with the 'Copyright, Design and Patents Act 1988'. First published in the UK in 2014. Cover design by Ahmad Priabudiman FOR GRANDMA INVOLUTION (noun) in-voh-loo-shun 1) Doing. 2) Involvement in action. 3) Involving one's body-mind-and-heart in new behaviour. 4) Challenging one's limits. EVOLUTION (noun) eh-voh-loo-shun 1) Becoming. 2) A process of development. 3) Improving one's nature-spirit- and-soul. 4) Expanding one's limits. SEE ALSO... INVOLUTION AND EVOLUTION (expression) 1) The process through which a person-community-or-culture, by engaging in new actions, is able to achieve a new state of being. 2) The use of one's body- mind-and-heart, to develop one's nature-spirit-and-soul. 3) The descent of spirit into matter, and the ascent of matter into spirit 1897 This is a story about understanding overcoming compulsion, love overcoming revulsion; and oneness overcoming abuse. About the rare sort of kind-geniality, and brave-morality; which we all possess but seldom use. A story about detractors who will be defeated, challenges which will be completed; and principles which will be proclaimed. About acts of persecution, and threats of execution; which will all be constrained. This is the beginning of Alfred Freeman's story, the beginning of a life full of glory; and the beginning of Alfred himself. Because Alfred is being born, in his human form; with peaceful-eyes and perfect-health. The year is 1897. An Italian Entrepreneur is sending the first ever seaborne wireless- message using his telegraph-machine, an Irish Schoolteacher is building the first ever engine-powered submarine; and an American Inventor is patenting his pencil-sharpener too. In India a famine is leaving the population angered, in Russia some politicians are adopting the gold-standard; and in America a marathon is being launched beneath skies which are blue. Whilst the British fight in Southern-Africa and Benin, where they hope to win; and stage a belligerent-coup. But Alfred is only focussed on being born, serenaded by this raucous- storm; and this riotous-gale. This gale which is dazzling-deafening-and-dark, as it uproots those trees in that park; and covers them all in hail. As it sends forth this thunder which is frightening, and this lightning; which flashes on a supernatural-scale. The animals in that barn are in a state of manic-dissatisfaction, manic- distraction; and manic-disarray. Owls cuddle to share their body-heat, a cat feeds her kittens some meat; and a horse begins to neigh. Sheep begin to hurry, chickens begin to scurry; and a donkey begins to bray. A white-moon pierces a black-sky, as light pours down from up high; where Jupiter is in conjunction with Saturn. It reflects off this water-vapour, and that torn-newspaper; to create a celestial-pattern. This pattern covers Alfred's Mother who is wearing two cotton-frocks, and two pairs of cotton-socks; with her hair in the pompadour-style. With braided-tresses which reach her waist, and a genteel-face; which features a genteel-smile. JOSS SHELDON | 7 She eats her way through this overripe-fig, cleans her teeth with this shredded-twig; and gets into her single-bed. She lies beneath these layered- sheets, and gazes out at those sodden-streets; with a pillow beneath her head. Having already dreamt of angels who cloaked her in flowers, holy- spirits with magical-powers; and an elephant with a silver-trunk. This is the moment she has dreamt about, because her firstborn son is coming out; atop this silver-bunk. She does not feel her contractions shake, her waters break; or her cervix become dilated. She just lies here feeling light, bright; secure-satisfied-and- sated. So whilst outside there is stormy-pain, stormy-rain; and lightning which strikes the ground. In here there is peace, this sense of release; and this light which spreads around. These curtains part after a few more seconds, this thunder beckons; and Alfred steps into the world. His Mother feels lighter than air, without a care; as Alfred is now unfurled. As he acknowledges his cue, without much ado; and enters onto this stage. As he makes his debut-bow, with a soppy-brow; and begins his latest- age. Without being coerced, he steps into the world feet-first; as if he is ready to walk through life. Unconscious of conventions, unaware of pretensions; and unaffected by earthly-strife. Raindrops sparkle in the moonlit-sky, and perfumed-blossoms float on by; as this storm begins to die down. As that donkey goes to sleep, and those birds begin to cheep; with an angelic sort of sound. All is now tranquil and all is now bright, all is now peaceful and all is now light; all is now clear-cool-and-calm. Alfred has been born without causing any strain, pain; hurt-horror-or-harm. 1899 As Alfred plays near those ticking-clocks, he starts to contract this bout of smallpox; which leaves him struggling in vain. This disease passes over his tongue, descends towards his lung; and ascends towards his brain. It covers him in pus-filled pimples, pus-filled dimples; and pus-filled pain. Seeing Alfred like this makes his Mother start to panic, and become manic; so she takes him to see his Doctor. She takes him past this block of flats, this pack of rats; and that rather hairy Proctor. The year is 1899. A Norwegian Clerk is designing the modern paper-clip one afternoon, an American Astronomer is discovering Saturn's ninth moon; and a German Chemist is registering 'Aspirin' as a trademark. In the Netherlands a treaty on war is being signed by diplomats in national-costumes, in America a new society is leaving bibles in hotel rooms; and in Australia a cyclone is spreading in the dark. Whilst the British travel to war in South Africa again, in a tram- truck-and-train; and a boat which looks like an ark. But Alfred can only focus on his Doctor's crooked-lip, crooked-hip; and dusty-drug. Which his Doctor forces down, with water which looks brown; inside this dirty-mug. Alfred's Mother carries him out of this surgery and along these paths, past those public-baths; and back home for a period of isolation. Because smallpox is rather egregious, and rather contagious; as it spreads its brand of damnation. And so Alfred's Mother makes a fuss, cleans Alfred's pus; and helps him to flee from his disease. She changes his dressings, recites some blessings; and gives him some lumps of cheese. She cares for Alfred all on her own, here in their family home; where they have both been confined. For Alfred's Father is a soldier who has gone to war, with his army-corps; and left them both behind. His Father has left Alfred in this state of sickness-soreness-and-stillness, but Alfred fights his illness; and overcomes his ordeal. His pimples turn into thirty-two scars, these stigmata which look like stars; and will never fully heal. These marks surround Alfred's eyes of smoky brown-quartz, and these three brown-warts; as Alfred's form takes shape all over. With cocoa-coloured hair, which flutters in the air; and these cheekbones which his Mother calls 'The White Cliffs Of Dover'. JOSS SHELDON | 9 "These cliffs of yours will be attracting seagulls before too long, my little- soldier," she says as she picks this clover. "Look at me. There aren't any oceans which need a breakwater like this! There aren't any navies planning to invade your face, my wonderful-warrior. Oh, whatever shall I do with you and all your mischity, Alfred Freeman? I really don't know! I-don't-I-don't-I-don't." Alfred's Mother is referring to Alfred's habit of stacking things up in piles, whilst he skips-shimmies-and-smiles; as his character also takes shape. As he scrambles up climbing-frames, plays infantile-games; and gets into many a scrape. As the only child in a house without a dad, Alfred's presence stops his Mother from going mad; and so she coddles him more than is the norm. She takes him to the countryside, and to the seaside; when it is windy and when it is warm. She makes him play-dough, and puts on a puppet-show; to give him stimulation. She reads to him, takes him to swim; and sings without cessation. She takes Alfred to see these billowy-trees, who spend each winter losing their leaves; only to grow them back the summer after. And she rocks him on her knees, and gives his cheeks a squeeze; which leaves him in fits of childish-laughter. So an appeal for 'Saturn and Jupiter's children' in this feuilleton-section, inspires her to take Alfred in a whole new direction; past these Workmen with noisy-drills.