The Captain’s chef was named Peter Svenge.  He had been the Captain’s chef for about five years.  He had become a better cook over the years as he had been able to experiment with different types of food as the visited different ports throughout the ship’s oil routes.  Today, he was serving the five gentlemen a very fancy breakfast.
Peter started the breakfast with Swedish Hazelnut coffee and then brought some raw oats out to the gentlemen to be mixed with raspberries, raisins and, yogurt.   The men then experienced Ostrich egg omelets with Shark meat sausage and curry spiced fried potatoes.   The men drank Indian Tea and Orange Juice and ate some freshly baked San Francisco style Sourdough Bread.
The men talked about the European trip and John Paul shared with the men that he would be gone after three nights with Jack as they were going on a special boat to the North Sea Oil Platform 2.

Three days went fast as Paolo and I discussed Economics over many hours.  I never really understood the difference between what the average American understands of Capitalism and work versus a European vision of socialism.  Paolo explained to me why he felt that the shared wealth of all the nations should be distributed equally among the masses for the good of all.  We disagreed on the issues: However, I began to understand why John Paul felt the necessity to bring Paolo back into the fold.  You see, Paolo shared over seventy-five percent of what he stole in improving the infrastructure of his poor village and surrounding areas.  Over the last fifteen years he has built a large hospital, several factories and many hotels and tourist places.  He has caused many of the people to grow wealthy and enabled over 100,000 citizens in the south of Spain to have well paying, steady jobs.   This was such a surprise to me…I even hugged him as I left to get into the boat to the oil platform.  Peter Chin showed me the art of fishing from such a big ship and Gunther showed me how to drink three gallons of beer at a time without getting drunk.  I did not know if I would ever use that skill!

On the two day trip to North Sea Oil Platform 2, John Paul shared with me that I was not ready for Europe and some of the things; yet to be seen.  He told me that I would be on the floating man-made island for about a year.  He said that it would be the toughest thing that I would ever experience.  He explained that the contract said that I  would be thrown into the Oil Platform jail and be required to spend an additional year on the Platform in jail if I did not fulfill my contract.  John Paul did not answer why I was to become a slave like this in Slav territory.  He just stated that to become truly free, one had to become a slave.
As he left me off on the Oil Platform, he handed me a letter from Caroline.  He, also, handed me a copy of my new address.  He said that I could write as many letters as I wanted, as the postage was included in the wages.   Caroline’s letter gave me a new address and how surprised she was when John Paul met her at the Airport when she arrived in the Middle East.  She told me that she enjoyed having dinner with John Paul and her father.   Her father was sick at the time and after a few days—her father was fully recovered.  Caroline sent me a copy of her Meatloaf Recipe and she sent me her best.
The ironic thing about this whole thing was that the letter was dated three days ago.  John Paul somehow left the oil tanker in the Middle of the Pacific Ocean and visited Caroline and then came back in time to leave with me on our journey.
  Here is a copy of Caroline’s Recipe.  Maybe, I will give a copy to the cook.
 

Caroline’s Meatloaf

Ingredients:
 
 1/2  Cup of Ground Garlic
 1 Cup of Ground Onion
 2 Cups of Sliced Mushrooms
 1 pound of Lean Hamburger
 1/2 Pound of ground Veal
 1/2 Pound of ground Turkey
 1 Tablespoon of Decaf-coffee
 1 Tablespoon of Lemon Pepper
 6 ounces of Sharp Cheddar Cheese.
 2 Tomatoes.
 4 Stalks of Celery
 2 Hardboiled Eggs
 1 Package of Ritz Crackers
 1 Tablespoon of Margarine

Caroline used a glass oblong-cooking dish and first crushed the crackers and mixed in a tablespoon of margarine.  She formed the crust on the bottom and side of the pan and then began to prepare the meat dish. Caroline first took all the peripheral ingredients and mixed them together with her hands.   She said that using a mixer did not give the same texture to the dish.  She said that the passion of strong hands added to the dish and some of the germs from her hands that could not be washed away added to the flavor.  After mixing the peripheral ingredients, Caroline added the meats and spent ten minutes mixing by hand the loaf.  After the loaf was thoroughly mixed together, Caroline put the loaf in the pan and put the pan in the oven.  She cooked the meatloaf in the oven for about an hour at 350 degrees.  After the loaf was finished she put the cheese on top and let it melt naturally for 15 minutes in the turned off oven.   The meatloaf was very good and Caroline was glad to show me another way of cooking meatloaf.
January 8th-- I finished work today at about 6:00 PM today.  Today was busy, but after 8 straight days of work, I had reason to celebrate.
My group had just finished our project of merging three oil pipelines into one.  This new center moves about 400,000 gallons a week and is quite a busy center.  I was really tired and; yet, felt very good.  I felt that the next thing for me to do was to visit a friend that lives in the Southern part of the oil bay area for dinner. Then I would spend some time with my grandparents on the phone and then...John Paul Francois called me at the mess lounge phone.
“Jack, a helicopter should be there in about 30 minutes to pick you up.”
“Why?”
“Jack--Caroline’s father passed away two nights ago and you are going to meet her in Los Angeles.  See...during the Christmas season Caroline and her father went home to Louisiana for a brief stay.  While they were there, the gentleman passed away.”
“What!  What happened to him?”
“He died of feeling like his work was finished.   He went in the night and Caroline found him yesterday morning. She decided to bury him  in Saudi Arabia.”
“Why Saudi Arabia?”
“Remember Caroline’s letters about how her father and one of the princes became good friends...well, the prince promised to give him a decent burial as an act of friendship.  It is amazing what people will do for one another when they begin to  care and try to listen and understand each other a little.”
“John Paul, John Paul.”
“Have a good trip my friend.”

True enough, the helicopter came to pick me up and briefly packed up and said goodbye to my comrades.  I had grown to love these rough-hewn men.  Even though I had become tough (more or less) like these gents, we all hugged and kissed cheeks like girls.  We learned to do this from the Belgium workers.  They called male kissing as sharing life, camaraderie and strength.  After a few tries, we all learned to do it.  Then we would punch each other’s arms to until we laughed in pain.  Sometimes women say little boys never grow up.
I hopped a plane at Gatwick airport outside of London and began the long flight.  The steward told me that the British Airways flight goes over the polar ice cap into Los Angeles International Airport, landing at the Mayor Tom Bradley International Terminal.  I then was given a glass of wine.  I drank it and then fell into a deep sleep.

I had a dream of what I would do when I returned. I would take a nice scenic drive of the Long Beach that I grew up in parts of my life.  I would then proceed down Ocean Avenue and drive over the Termino Island Bridge on my way to the Vincent Thomas Bridge.    Like I always do I would do that night--I look at the Base on Termino Island, and always watch the people who are eating at Burger King and Taco Bell, at the Navy Base. In my dream as I was driving, I became horrified to find that the restaurants were closed as the base had been shut down.  The new paved road is pretty good, though.  As I was saying, my grandfather was Navy and a favorite great-uncle was Navy.  I always like to look at the Navy Base.  Too bad those “bastards shut it down.
I would take the change in my pocket and give it to the attendant at the toll part of the Vincent Thomas Bridge.  I then would drive to the top and stop my car and get out and climb over the railings and then look at the Ocean and pray to God that I would not be afraid to end my life.  I then would jump and wonder how hard the water would be hundreds of feet below.   After I jumped I would realize that whether I was wrong or right,   I would call out to God for his mercy that very night.   I would realize that there was nothing I could do anymore.  I was truly in the hands of God.
Then in my dream I woke up in the restroom at my old work at the oil refinery.  I used to clean that place every day.  Everything was clean--at least to ease the pressure of having to listen to the cussing from my superior.  While I was in the Restroom, I realized that jumping off the bridge was empty and would stop me from learning to help the people that I was learning to love.   I was not afraid to trust and jump into the water and have Faith that I would truly live in God’s Kingdom above.  I just felt that there was a better way...I had to live now and not read about life, but experience it. While I was in the middle of the dream, I realized that I was finished with that assignment and then ran back to work.
I continued to experience my dream:
This week I finished my work project.  I defended a friend.  I stood up for what I thought was right.   I helped a friend’s neighbor and that neighbor was able to get a necessary surgery the next day.  I listened to a friend share her story. I finished some of my writings.  I cried and, possibly, lost some one dear to me.  Things went black for a while and then I remembered back several years about a vacation I took to visit a friend that I went to high school with.

I remembered that before I left for the trip that it had been a long week at work and I  had gotten less and less sleep over the last few days.  Right before we landed in Vegas, I realized that the time that I was arriving in Kansas City was in about two and a half hours--That meant I was only going to get a maximum of two hours, or so, of sleep while on the plane.  For some reason, I thought that the trip took much longer.

While on the flight, I started to sleep when the young man sharing the three seats with me started talking.  The rest of the trip I was able to get only a few minutes of sleep.  So much for planned destiny!   This guy was originally from Lenexa, Kansas.   He was a full blooded Indian who was on a leave from the Marine Corps (To be honest, I was very tired and did not write down the name of the tribe or, even, the gentleman’s  name.  I do have a great respect for the Native American peoples.  I think that they should have more economic power through strong Capitalistic principles.  I hate to see the Federal Government screwing with the Indian populations, so much so, that the Indian Nations have to run Casinos for money making purposes.  It is inexcusable to force Native American Indigenous people into the Mafia.   Do you see Korean Americans running porno shops?  Do you see Mexican Americans running  Contract Killer Shops?  No--the majority of Americans fight every day to make a living, more or less, by hard work and innovative actions.  Why do we need to help our brothers to get in a vicious cycle of stealing from the middle class and poor and giving to themselves?).  This guy was about 19 and was afraid that the plane was going to lose his uniforms.  You see, he needed his uniforms for his girlfriend’s Senior Prom.  We talked about how he was thinking of marrying the girl, and , also about whether he would go to college or not.  I suggested that he really be careful about marrying at too young of an age.  We then talked a little bit about commitment--he said that both he and the girl do not want to divorce.  I wished them well.  He was interested in the Great Spirit.  We talked about my adventures with John Paul Francois.  I asked him to find out the answer to that question of what it is all about.  I told him that John Paul had given me direction--so far, to the right way of existence and how I am beginning to believe.
It is funny how long the flight from Europe to America is, as I slept too much during the flight.
“I stood up for what I thought was right!”

My dream now took me to a chessboard.  This board was life size and I was standing naked on the board wearing a white sheet of gauze around my middle waist area.  The chess figures were made of a shiny silver material and were crowding around me trying to imprison me.  There were all of the familiar characters on that chessboard.  They seemed to represent all the Cathedrals that I had experienced in my life.  For some strange reason I felt that when these chess characters would catch me they would open their knives and cut the linens off of me and expose my shame and nakedness and then hang me from a pole so that I would forever be mocked in my shame.  These cathedrals were after me for non-benevolent purposes and I could not figure out why?  Then I looked around in horror that a number of people were scantily clad in similar rags, such as, I was wearing.  These friends were screaming and running away from the “cathedrals of peace.”  One young woman was wearing a banner that said, “Whore.”  A Rook and a Bishop were cornering her.  These metallic objects seemed to spit at her and command her to renounce the sins of her “past.”  I ran over and threw my body at the two inanimate objects and knocked them both down.  When my naked body touched their shells, I felt like I was burning in an unquenchable oven.  I screamed and then tried to carry the girl to a safe place.

In the center of the chessboard, I saw a crucifix and thought that the place was part of the other game pieces.  Then I noticed that the pawns were trying to knock it down and break it down.  The pawns should have been our friends, but they had to be removed as shamelessly followed the rules of the king and his queen.  The man on the crucifix shouted a long phrase in some ancient language.  After a few seconds, I understood what he said.  He said that he was dead and now alive.  He told us to come to him.  He said that we would not be harmed as we were given sanctuary in the arms of Jesus Christ.  The chess pieces all fell on their sides.  The kings and the queens’ crowns broke off their heads.  All of us ran to the rain soaked messiah.  He sent some of us to another world.  I stayed with him after saying “goodbye” to the only girl that I ever loved as she went to the new world.

The messiah asked me if I believed in him.  Before I could answer,  I looked around and saw John Paul Francois standing next to him.  John Paul smiled and disappeared.  Jesus called me by name.  He said, “Jack, I want you polish these statues. Whenever a naked person comes here, show them the way to the other world.  Jack, your friend Caroline will follow Amy shortly to the pace where you will be, where I AM.”  Jesus held my arms and gave me a new uniform made of rags.  I felt so clean and right.  Like I had found the purpose that had been missing for most of my life.  I knew that I would never own a house, or give land to my children to farm.  Of course, nothing is wrong with owning a house, or a farm.  I just knew that rescuing Vietnamese “Boat People” would prove more in line with the hands of Jesus.  When you touch the Divine presence of the only God, little things seem so insignificant; yet, Jesus does care for each little thing.  He will, also, teach me to care.  I woke up and heard the steward telling the businessman next to me that we should be in Los Angeles in about three hours.  I fell asleep again.

I dreamed another sight where I was floating near the roof of the plane and I could see all of what was going on in the cabin.  Then I screamed but no noise came out of my mouth as I saw the steward strangling with a plastic bag.  I tried to float down to the man to stop him--instead I floated outside of the plane and ever upward.  I started to think of Caroline and Los Angeles.  Suddenly, a man in a long purple, feathered jacket floated over to me and started talking to me.  He had a close shaven head of black hair and he looked a little like a crow.  His shoes reminded me of a seventies  “rocker” as they were black and five inch platform shoes.  He started speaking:
“The LA Times came out with an article in their Friday, June 13, 1997 issue of the newspaper. This article talks about how the Cuban government has had to restrict the Cuban people from being able to move to Havana, Cuba.   The article mentions that for the first time in the history of the Communist Regime that the government has had to limit migration to the Capitol of Cuba.  The article goes on to state that there are not enough jobs and housing for more Cuban refugees to come from the extremely poor regions to Havana for a better future.  Currently, the city of Havana has about 2.2 million inhabitants in the city, according to The Times.  The article focused on a few different people who find that the new rules are against the freedom of movement in the country that citizens enjoyed.  The article, also, emphasized just how much that Cuba is in a crisis; which,  may result in extreme poverty, death by disease, and a possible uprising or, change in the government.
OK, enough of this Cuba stuff!  Why should any God-fearing red, blooded American care about the demise of the last Communist evil-Empire.   Well, OK...How about I talk about every person going out finding an injustice in your community.  And why doesn’t that person be willing to risk their life, or reputation to try to right that injustice?  I think when you think about Cuba in those terms...you would rather have me talk about Cuba; rather than writing about awful things here.   It is much easier to pray for an enemy nation and feel sad for the countless thousands that are on the way to HELL. Then we feel good because we Americans are blessed by God and those godless Commies do not deserve the right to go to heaven.
Do any of you realize that fourteen-year-old boys and girls have to give up their childhood, so that they can bring in a little money to survive?  The thorns kill the children there.  So what can we do?   By the way, Cuba is an enemy nation.  Technically, our government does not allow Americans to go there.  Is there anything that we can do?   I would like someone to write with a solution.   Is there a God?  Is there a solution?  Give me a solution, Jack; otherwise, shut up!   Let’s have it!”
I thought about getting some friends to go to Cuba.  I thought about it and decided that few of use would be willing to be put in prison in an Cuban jail for being the Enemy. I then realized that my friend was right.  Basically, I was afraid to be Jack Armstrong, the guy who would die to help the lost on the island of Cuba.  I told this guy that God cared.  My friend told me that God would help, but that I was weak for talking a good talk, but not doing anything about these Cubans needing good friends who would really do something.  My friend left me and told me that he believed...he just wanted me to know how ashamed he was of our inactivity.
“Well, at least the Pope made a visit and the little children celebrated Christmas in Havana.”
 
 
 

This page created with Netscape Navigator Gold