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clarity of mind, and physical grandeur. Standing six and a half feet, his physique echoes the best traits of bodybuilder and endurance swimmer. He is a very fast runner, powerful, and blindingly quick to move. Supreme confidence, self-assured calm.
    The change of location was a shock to him, but he endured it gracefully. In the long millennia, he has felt many such, surprised by few. Always matter-of-fact, he works to keeps his ego boundaries fluid. It must never again cloud his judgment.
    To be on Earth is a pleasant surprise. He had been forbidden to come here since that disagreement over the Creator’s design. He knows that events will unfold as they will, outside of his control. Mindful that there is but a single spell that can summon him, he uses this time to be conscious, hold himself in the present. He allows thoughts and judgments to arise and fade on their own. His mind is clear. But he cannot deny the welcome scent of hope.
    Again they are hailing him via loudspeakers. Verbal orders to lie face down, put his hands behind his head. There are also threats. He has no reason to obey these commands, or to respond. Ignoring the smoky hissing objects that hurry toward him through the air, he waits with focus for whoever commanded him. It is unusual that the petitioner is not here, willing and eager to get started. Hidden, why? But that mortal will come, and when it does he will take utter vengeance, free himself, and be gone. If he wore a slogan on a shirt, it would read, Don’t Get Angry Just Slay Them . And when he extricates himself from this age-old prison, he will at last go searching. For Her.
    His One. So many misguided pursuers have captured her, punished her cruelly, and killed her. Again and again, and for what? To obey lies of the cultural fathers of antiquity, unquestioned down through all of time. He has killed several of them already.
    He is not conscious of waiting. For him, it is enough to be mindful of the moment, take pleasure in the day, colors changing in the sky, aromas on the air, the calls of birds. His constant exercise is to be awake, to hold his mind in gratitude and surrender to his Creator. He is aware that ego is his failing, however vital to survival. At one time long ago, his ego made him f orget that everything he is and knows was a gift from the Creator. He’s been trying to fix it ever since.
    He remains still, a center of bliss requiring no mind, serenely undisturbed when the explosion sounds from a rooftop eighty yards away.

Laughter Epidemic
    Dr. Arnold Friedman, M.D., Ph.D., expert in a broad range of psychological diseases including marginal mental states, perceptual disorders, misfirings of the sensory nervous system, advanced studies in acute stress reactions, combat fatigue, and stress disorders, stands in the swing space office of General Ralph Solberg. Aides and civilian employees try not to interrupt as they carry boxes and file cabinets in the door behind Friedman, who listens carefully as Solberg outlines his objectives. Friedman finds Solberg’s grasp of the situation impressive. It’s been an intense Q and A from the general relating to Friedman’s recent book, Clinical Guidelines for Interpretation of Mass Hallucination in the Field .
    “We’ve had a look at the courtyard intruder,” Solberg says. “We have assembled all staff and personnel who witnessed the arrival or were present in the courtyard. We need your team to debrief them ASAP and find out if there is a norm. Such as first impressions, reactions of others, direct or indirect auditory or visual sensations. Of course we’re checking for photos, vids, texts that may have been sent in the aftermath. I’m only scratching the surface, Arnie, which is why I asked for you. But I’m sure you get my drift here.”
    “Aye, sir.” Friedman, ex-Navy now civilian, falls into familiar habit of rank address.
    “I’m ordering Dr. Shackleford onto your team . Brilliant man, he’ll have ideas on this from a fresh