An Observe Story

That reminds me of where I'm going now. When I was in Tibet 22 years ago I had a young monk as my guide. I pointed out the beauty of a nearby mountain side. That's when he said it "There is nothing new under the sun." "What. . . what does that mean?" "Please think about it Mr. Paulettie." I did and it came to me months after I had left the monastery. The comment about the rock wasn't original and although it was the first time he heard it the boy knew that the comment was made at least once before. That rings true. Everyone wants to feel like an individual when in reality any of your characteristics have probably been shown in another person, talked about by their friends and maybe even discussed formally in a group. So why should I believe that I'm the only person in the history of mankind to see clearly. Why should I be the only man to walk this earth that doesn't except what's been told to me. Hence my destination. I'm heading to a secret underground military base in new Mexico. How do I know about it?. . . I've been doing this 20 years and I've made it my job to find secrets. Why am I going? Because knowledge of the kind I'm talking about is rare. Those who have it usually keep it and use it to rise to power manipulating other by unseen forces that your average person is not smart enough to comprehend. This society is built on quiet wars fought with silent weapons. My aim is to find out how these wars are waged and I can feel it in my bones that this underground base is one of the keys.

Right now though I join the crowd on the number 7 train as I head for the airport. It's crowded as always and I pay close attention not to touch anything, as always. And to keep with the theme of constants there's that reverend walking through each car as always, Constantly yelling on deaf ears the word of Jesus Christ. I've seen him many times and many times I've stayed silent as he yelled that the good Shepherd is waiting to lead us. But there's always a question I wanted to ask. "Reverend, why would I need a Shepherd? I'm not a sheep." His smile has diminished as he hears my question. He's thinking. Asking himself the same query. For the first time in years he's beginning to question and sees that the idea of an adult human being needing someone to lead them is ludicrous. Then he slows down and stops thinking. He ignores my question then continues walking down the train car yelling out the good news.

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I'm here. After a train, plane, automobile ride and a 40 mile walk I'm here. After years of taps, keeping my ears open and a lot of research, I've gotten to where I need to be. One of the most secretive areas in the world and if I hadn't covered my all black attire and face with a chemical coolant I would've been spotted by the heat sensitive cameras to my right 20 minutes ago. But I know better. I know to wait at the borders of the gated compound until the next convoy of military trucks goes through; I know to wait at the gate opening so when they enter I can hitch a ride hanging on to the belly of the truck in the middle; I know to quickly get off the truck and run to a dark corner of the immense building where I start a search for an opening, a duct of some kind; I know after penetrating the building I leave the duct and enter the nearest room using my black market bought military ID which I swipe though the check machine; I know to render unconscious the first man I see, take their uniform, wear it and after tying and locking him away somewhere safe I begin. . . my search for information. Here comes some trucks.