Volume 5, Issue 5, page 2

Recusant Voice of "The
Infnites" for Earth, Mars,
Saturn, Pluto, Venus, and
Zydokumm skehen.

Published monthly, except for the combined January-February and JulyAugust issues, at 207 North Washington, Enid, Oklahoma, U. S. A.

Mail Address: Postoffice Box 528. fluid. Okla„ U.S.A.

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Editor: The Rev. Mr. Dr. AIPHIA OMEGA HART. I- 2, D. D. , D. Scn. , F. Scn. ,
B. Scn. , HDA. HCA, et al ad infinitum ad nauseam.

Publisher: ALICE AGNES HART. I-1. HCA, SEC.. tIfF., H.Kpr. ETC.

POLICY: Don't take it so damn' seriously. The infiniteness of Men is
not reduced to a 'split infinity' by wars, taxes, or "experts"
who offer to sell him what he already has.

Bab-Policy -- We reserve the right to change our minds from issue to
issue, or even from page to page, if we desire.

Sub-Sub-Policy: Each man has the inherent right to be his own and only

Advertising Rates: $1 a column inch, if you get results; double if you
don't. Payable in advance. Copy must be in office 30 days prior
to date of publication.

Libraries are
lined with books
which tell "the
history" of Man .

Millions of persons, as soon
as they can get two ideas together, feel inspired to tell
their fellow humans how the
world was created, Who created
its principal inhabitants, and
how, and when, this creation
will be destroyed. Museums
are built around stone tablets , rotting animal skins, and
papyrus attesting AO the- fa-ct
that Man is a confiding soul ,
as well as somewhat inventive.

Which proves Man's Godhood.

In the beginning, God created
the world. Then He created Man
in His own image. And Man has
been creating worlds since.

Even today, one could spend a
lifetime poring thru the indexes -- to say nothing of the
texts -- of the many "learned"
histories of where Man came
from, why he's here, and what's
going to happen when he dies.

As most of you know, it is
the policy of The ABEBR.EE to
print 'most any idea which
readers can look at, evaluate
against what they already believe, and fit it into acceptable concepts, or reject, as
they see fit. We have nothing
to sell of our own. That isn't
because we don't have any
ideas, but because we have no
ambitions to enter a field
against such stiff competition.

If you want to believe in
Heaven , Hell , and Purgatory --
if your "favorite" belief encompasses a lamination of
Heavens with a "check-in" desk
at the lower levels -- if you
expect a 10 - minute trip to
Mars for the erasure of your
latest past life before being
trapped again into the body of
a squalling new-born babe -- if
Life is just a "game", and you
are a mere pawn propelling
yourself from square-of-victory
to square-of-defeat, e t c . it's your business. We hope
you enjoy it. Maybe, some day
when we get together(if we dor
wherever we happen to be going, we can find a few moments
out of our Eternity to laugh
over the wild guesses that held
our interest for a fleeting
period of our growing-up.

Actually, the story of Man's
creation and "fall" is probably
so simple none of us can accept it. It would make us feel
too small. We have to be a
big shot"-, -- and -- the best way
to do this is to shroud our
mysterious genesis in a morass
of complications.

Maybe, once upon a time.
Man knew the secrets of Life.
He knew where he came from,
why he was here , and where he
was going. His creativity put
him on a par with God -- in fact,
ke was God, and knew it -- and
when he wanted something, he
supplied his needs with the
same creative facility that
created the desire. He needed
no doctors to give him poisons
to counteract the poisons his
fellowman fed him thru the
food he ate, no preachers to
"save his soul" , no unions to
insure him preferred treatment
over others, no tax-collectors
to steal a large share of what
he created, no -- well, in fact,
they hadn't yet created much
of civilization's so-called
necessities and luxuries.

One day, one of these men
took a walk thru the forest.
Flowers and fern carpeted his
way. Birds sang in the branches overhead. White clouds raced
across a blue sky. And in a
rotting limb stalked tragedy --
a tragedy that led to the fall
of man from his own Godhead.

The limb broke, just as the
man passed beneath it, striking the man on the head and
frightening n ear to death a
small snake that lay nearby.
The concussion left him dazed
and bleeding. For a moment, he
was even as loa and I -- as he
stumbled into the settlement
from which be lad started his
walk only a few boars before.
"Life is dmerous , " he
told those who gathered around
him. "Something bit me; I think
it- was a snake curled on a
limb. We ought to 'create all
To the others. this was
amusing. And they laughed.
Their laughter infuriated the
injured man, who still was
dazed. "I tell you it's true."
he insisted. "Snakes are dangerous. The woods are dangerous. In fact, I'm-beginning to
think even you're dangerous."
And they laughed and laughed.
Nothing so funny had happened
to them since the beginning of
Man. And it was so funny that
they did nothing to cure the
man of his injury, or his hallucinations. This was something
they could keep around and

Others. seeing the attention this man was getting, began creating hallucinations of
their own. And. since thoughts
are pretty powerful things -- and
the human mind is one of the
most perfect thought -- receivers
known -- strange ideas began to
infiltrate at the most unexpected moments.

One inventive person, certain no reptile could be so
powerful as to fell a wim
substituted a giant of a woman
for the villain in the tree.
This gradually became accepted
until the newly-formed priesthood decided to moralize the
story. and make it a lesson to
be learned by those who came
after. Of course, by this time,
man had forgotten he had knowingness, and lived only on the
hallucinations that were being
fed him by the growing number
of groups.

This, of course, is a fable
-- but we like it better than
some of the fables we've read
in gold-edged, leather-covered
'gospels". It makes more sense .
But, as we said, it's a bit
too simple for man to accept.
And besides what would happen
to all the parasites who live
off the fear their fables
arouse, inasmuch as belief in
their own stories has deprived
them of the ability to create
for their own needs?
Maybe, if enough of us send
out powerful enough thoughts
that Life is simple, and God
is All. we can start reversing
the trend that gave us all
these complications and mysteries. We'll not "sell Man
down the river" , just because
a few persons thought it funny
when one of their fellow townspeople got bapped on the head
with a broken limb -- a few yesterdays ago .