The newest testament, according to the enlightened San Tronco part 43

Door San Daniel gepubliceerd in Verhalen en Poëzie



The day passed on the fields and the clouds of sulfur found their way over the grapes. I heard a new sound that reached out over the field, it was a bongo drum. Something like what you used to see in the gym classes where the gym teacher hit the rhythm on two drums attached to each other. You had to run faster or slower depending on the rhytm. "We are starting to become indigenous," I thought, and the picture in the schoolbook with the Tonga king came back to mind.

When the last field was done, the sun was already up high and my skin was itching all over. I brought the bellow back to the barn, I would not need it anymore for a year and I was happy about that. Actually, it's only a small price to pay, your skin that itches a day, in return for a safe harvest. I stripped off my clothes and knew that, though I would shower, the sulfur scent, which was like the stench of rotten eggs, would stick to me to a greater or lesser degree. As if the minuscule particles had been pushed into your pores. After a few days, that would fade away.

The invasive drumming kept on and although I had succesfully banned it out for a while, it got to me again, it started to become annoying. After a long time under the outdoor shower, I put on light summer clothes and I decided to look at a field of 'tipo andaluz anticuo' olives. Actually the field was adjacent to the neighbors land and on my way to it, I had to admit that I was just curious about what was taking place at the neighbors.

Then I stood there as an ordinarily peeping Tom between centuries old olives and stretched my neck to see what was happening at San Tronco's.

Under the pine seated with his legs in lotus position my old friend Tronco was holding court. He rested his arms with the wrists on his knees in a gesture of surrender with the palms up and a blissful smile played around his lips. Behind him stood a young girl in a long jute shirt that cooled him with a palm branch. He sat there as an Indian pascha from past days. Somebody with long hair and a jute shirt came walking out of his cortijo with a bowl in her hands. "Those would be olives," I assumed. Tronco loved those. The dish was held out and my old friend took something from it and spat something on the ground. "That would have been the stone," I said, so indeed, olives.


Next to him were Ricardo and the wolfman. They sat quietly staring out over the crowd, they were not in line with Tronco but slightly more backwards so that they formed a faint triangle. With Tronco in the middle, the only one being treated to coolness. I saw a young man with the drums hanging on his stomach, beating them constantly, and it made me think of the Roman galleys who had a drummer on board to indicate the rhythm. It was the only thing that registered with the slave rowers who served as a moving mechanic for the galley. Empty, without thoughts, grown lobsided by the rowbeds, or to the right or, on the other side of the hallway, to the left hanging over the oars. Empty, just two arms and ears wich followed the drum beat.

The comparison was not entirely coincidental. It was a busy going on and while the bongo's pumped out the beat, youngsters in jute shirts,  pushed huge tent posts up. Here there were no pulleys, as with circus tents that were lifted up, everything was done with brutal manpower. A little ways from the poles  large flat paella pans on tripods were steaming and people were stirring in it. 'That would be the main meal,' I thought. The association with an army camp came to me. The drumming was dominant, a second drummer came on and the first drummer stopped and went to a table and got something to drink. "Changing of the guard," I grinned.

Something big was being constructed, clenched muted hammer blows that drowned out in the constant drumming. It began to get the shape of a giant overhang on poles.

I saw that Ricardo kept his head sideways as if he heard something or was listening to something. He said something behind Tronco's back to the wolfman, who kept his head tilted now as if he was trying to hear something as well. Slowly, Richi the self-appointed priest came up from his squat. He looked around and then took a few steps forward and picked up a stone. The drumming was predominant to the point where your thoughts were torn away in the rhythm. I realized that I tapped the rhythm with my foot.


He held the stone against his ear and then gave it to the wolfman who seemed to listen to the stone as well. I was filled with horror, he turned my direction and I knew now what I had tried to eliminate, not only did they listen to stones, but they also heard what the stones wanted to share. "Maybe it was coincidence," I thought, but I realized how hard that thought was, because Ricardo turned around facing me as well. He said something to Tronco and pointed to my fields and Tronco turned his head to my direction. I quickly went a few passes back to the lush bushes, but I realized it was false safety. I did not know how they had done it, but I was seen. Then I fully understood what I was seeing, I was reported, no man is an island, everything was in touch with everything, because wherever you were there were always stones or trees.

With quick passes, I walked away from my far-off field, to my dogs, to my cortijo and I was only calmer when I stepped into the yard.

San Daniel 2017

also read part 44


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The Book of Enoch- The Reluctant Messenger. Retrieved 14 June 2014.

The Book of Enoch. "The Book of Enoch as translated into Ethiopic belongs to the last two centuries B.C. All the writers of the NT were familiar with it and were more or less influenced by it in thought"

Nathaniel Schmidt, "Original Language of the Parables of Enoch," pp. 343–345, in William Rainey Harper

John J. Collins in ed. Boccaccini Enoch and Qumran Origins: New Light on a Forgotten Connection 2005 ISBN 0-8028-2878-7, page 346

P. Flint The Greek fragments of Enoch from Qumran cave 7 in ed.Boccaccini Enoch and Qumran Origins 2005 ISBN 0-8028-2878-7,

Nibley, Hugh (December 1975), "A Strange Thing in the Land: The Return of the Book of Enoch, Part 2", Ensign

Van Gogh (2009), Letter 535 To Theo van Gogh. Nuenen, on or about Tuesday, 13 October 1885:

Carolyn Lee. Adi Da: The Promised God-Man Is Here by The Ruchira Sannyasin Order of Adidam Ruchiradam. ISBN 1570971439.

Tiele, CP (1912). "Appendix: some Buddhistic parallels". The religion of the Iranian peoples. I. (from the German) with Darmesteter's sketch of "Persia" and Goldziher's "Influence of Parsism on Islam (1st ed.). Bombay: The Parsi Publishing Co. p. 159. No one who has studied the Zoroastrian doctrine of the Saoshyants or the coming saviour-prophets can fail to see their resemblance to the future Maitreya.

Lutyens, Mary (1975). Krishnamurti: The Years of Awakening. New York: Farrar Straus and Giroux. ISBN 0-374-18222-1. Biography (partial) of Jiddu Krishnamurti, the presumed "vehicle" of the Maitreya in the 20th century, describes the events in some detail



17/07/2017 21:49

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