Nothing is Too Wonderful to be True (Night 3)

[Thee Independent]

TI

“Nothing is too wonderful to be true,” says the inscription above the entrance to Kinsley Hall on the Westwood campus of UCLA. The quote is attributed to the English scientist Michael Faraday, and his words ring truer than most students, faculty, and administration know. Kinsley Hall was one of the first four buildings erected on the campus. Unlike some of the other buildings on the campus, designed in America’s escalating emphasis on new age architecture and smoother, glossier surfaces, Kinsley Hall is a tall, stodgy white stone structure that resembles a seventeenth-century English keep; the windows on either side of the entryway are four and a half to five feet tall with iron latticework painted a creamy off-white to match the rest of the building. The roof is lined with large blocks, each a waist-high portcullis overlooking the courtyard below. Kinsley Hall houses the joint departments of Foreign Studies and Theology.

Professor London sits comfortably upon a leather chair in her second-story office, a bourgeois workplace decorated with Dutch hallmark furniture and culturally varied set of ornamentations: rain hats from the Phillipines, white masks from West Africa, a glass display case with black velvet underlining featuring early colonial stamps that depict the images and messages from the Church of England to the colonists, and a collection of gold and silver implements donated to her study by a small Catholic church in the Bavarian alps, separated by the purple giants from the eye of the Holy See. Her white blouse is mousy beneath the bright white jacket with broadened shoulders, and the compounding color diminishes from view her simple black skirt and nylons. A white heel clicks against the chair as she gauges the interest of her star pupil, Dakota Bishop; he is one of the more exceptional students in her Judeo-Christian Traditions course, and his talents necessitate a one-on-one education that goes beyond the limitations of a curricular hour and a half.

“Tell me, Dakota,” she begins, folding her hands gently over the ridge in her skirt, “taking into consideration all that we discussed in class today about the cultural functions of an established religion, what does it mean for an evangelist of a given religion to sacrifice the organizational precepts of his faith in order to synthesize the majority of his religion’s teachings along cultural lines? An example: an orthodox Hebrew travels to Malaysia, a culture rich in iconography, in order to preach Judaism. When the Rabbi finds that words fail in a culture used to communicating such lofty ideas in symbols, rather than spoken language, he is faced with a dilemma. He cannot make them understand his language, but he can make them understand his religion if he preaches the wisdom of the Torah in symbolic plays, or commissions a Malaysian woodcutter to craft miniatures representations of the Fathers. The use of icons, however, is a discouraged practice in orthodox Judaism, and the implementation of visual morality plays a near heresy; is this Rabbi still continuing to preach Judaism if he breaks his faith’s organizational traditions in order to proselytize to those wanting to belong in God’s community? And if he is no longer teaching Judaism, then what is he teaching? And if he has to change, then why must he continue to teach it? Answer in your own words and in your own time, Dakota.”

Dakota Bishop

Dakota sits in the chair sloppily and leans his head backwards. Black hair spills out behind it, lightly tapping his back. The goth-ster isn't bored, his relaxing posture is not from lack of attention. It is because he is tired. Dakota had been up a little too late last night, and London's classes were always a little too early. He went to them though, because he enjoyed them. Heaven help him, he enjoyed them. Her teaching style actually provoked him to think, and she didn't judge him by his apperance. The contrast between the two was simply amazing, this pair of professor and pupil.

As London starts to speak, Dakota raises his head. The question rings very deeply in him, from the tip of the black mark streaming down his face, to the tip of the red and black rosary at his side. As she goes on with her example, he sits up straighter, giving her his full attention and consideration. He shakes his head lightly, removing the raven locks from his face. He doesn't think very long on the question because he doesn't have to. The answer is inside of him, just waiting to jump out.

"Well...if you are going to break a rule, you should know how to break it, and why. Judism doesn't like icons because sometimes they can take the focus away from God. People start worshiping the idol or object instead of what it represents." He pauses for a moment, reaching down to finger the crucifix by his side thoughtfully. "The cross is one of the biggest icons in history, and yet almost every Christian-based faith uses it. Why? Because it helps to remind us of the sacrifice that God made for us. We don't worship the cross, but it helps us retain our focus."

Dakota lets go of the crucifix, and it lands softly against his black pants softly. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees and pointing a painted finger at London, to accent his next point.

"The Rabbi, though, he has to use icons and figures to preach his message, because that particular culture only communicates ideas like that through that medium. If that is his only option, or even the most direct and understandable option, I say he should go for it, despite the what the rules say.

"Traditions are alot like icons, Professor. They help us stay in focus, and helps us remember things we need to remember. But when those traditions stop us from spreading the word of God, that is when you break the traditions. When you break the rules. I mean, what good are they if they can't save anyone!" He says with passion in his voice. Dakota was no fan of rules or boundries, at least not the needless ones.

"If they only understand puppets, then use puppets. If they only understand sign language, use sign language. As long as the true meaning of the message remains pure, then there isn't a problem. The Rabbi is still preaching Judaism, but he is bending a few rules to do it. Nothing is static, Professor. Nothing. And if it is, it doesn't stay around for long, because the world is always changing. The Rabbi is seeing that first hand. When you go out into the world and see new things, with new people, and new cultures, things change. If you want to convert them, to help them understand the message of God, then might have to translate the message into something they can understand. The word doesn't do much good if only one people can understand it."

He finishes and leans back in his chair again. His shoulders are still a little tense from the answer, and the sleepy look he had moments ago is all but gone. Dakota wasn't her star pupil because he was smarter than the rest of them. No, there were many students who knew much more than he did, who studied harder and took constant notes. No, Dakota was the treasured pupil because he was rebellious. He challanged everything he studied, not to dismiss it, but to make sure it structually sound. If the pillar should stand, it'll stand. If its weak, then it should fall. Dakota smiled at London, not because he was feeling cocky per se, but because he had enjoyed the question.

A relgious figure foregoing a set tradition for the greater good? It was right up his alley.

TI

London maintains a professional silence while Dakota answers her question, his words alternating between confident, direct response and the fervency of evangelism that she has watched him latch onto as he learns more and more about the mysteries of his own "tradition", as he so aptly put it. Dakota's diction during that portion of his response had truly surprised his mentor, and he found her blinking and smiling lightly at his enlightening insight.

"Judaists," she says, succumbing to the educator's affliction for political correctness," are the professed Children of God, perfect by virtue of their birth and their adherence to His Old Testament laws. This Rabbi, as I pointed out, is of the more orthodox bent, where a breach of original law sullies the central faith and makes it something other than what it was."

London's hands slide onto the armrests of her chair, and she leans back, pushing Dakota a little bit further into this discussion. "Would it not be true that the Rabbi would be preaching something other than pure Judaism, were he to compromise his beliefs in order to deliver a few bits and pieces of spiritual wisdom to this vastly different culture? The Temple authorities would react with unrest to his decision to meet those lost souls halfway. He may as well be setting up a Temple to some different faith, with its roots in Judaism but its practices too dogmatically changed from the original to bear any flattering resemblence to its forebear. Is it truly possible, then, to teach a single religion to all peoples without compromise? If so, how does one do it? And if not, then why not? Because the cultures of third world countries are too uneducated to understand? Because they are too steeped in their own mysticism to adopt the principles of another mystic belief?"

A grandfather clock in the corner toks patiently, its brass pendulum swinging behind a wall of transparent glass. "More importantly, Dakota, is it right to concilate that which is perfect with baser elements to achieve a...a mean understanding that is on the hand true, but on the other hand imperfect?"

Dakota Bishop

Dakota pauses as he brings his right hand up to his face. It was bare of make-up, save for the one dark vertical mark along the right side. It was funny how his style of dress put certain students at unease. Would they believe that Dakota was sitting here now, having a private study with Professor London? Doubtful. His index grazes his chin for a moment as he contemplate was London sets before him. London was painting the picture as if it were black and white, and Dakota doesn't think the scheme is appropriate. He brings his hand back down, and smiles as the words come to him.

"I..." He begins, making sure to place his words right. "I don't think that the use of the icons would be so destructive to the fibers of his beliefs, London. And I know that isn't the focus of the questions, but humor me for a moment." He sits back up again, this time freeing his hands from his jacket in a fluid shrug. The leather jacket fell around the back of the chair, while his hands hovered in front of him. It looks like he is going to start thumb-wrestling himself, when his hands start to move deftly through the air. Except the movements were not random, but ordered and structured. Sign Language. In both 'tongues', he continued.

"If the icons were used as that, icons, then sure, he would be violating an essential part of his particular faith. But if he uses images and icons as simply a means of communication, then they stop becoming icons. They are the same as letters in any other language, just a means of spreading the word. Of course, it would be up to him to stress the fact that the icons held no power, so not to confuse anyone."

His hands stop the fluid motions in the air, and he brings his hands back down. His smile is a bit bigger, but this time it is of the curious type. This wasn't a right or wrong answer, he realized. London was just picking his brain, to see how he thought. The realization didn't change his answer, of course, but he it reminded him of why he liked London quite so much.

"The temple, though...heh, well, if I was the Rabbi, I'd have some words with them. But I'm not, and if I was a Rabbi, honestly and truly, I probably wouldn't think like I do now, anyway. But in my opinion, London, most forms of orginization, especially religious ones, eventually fall flat. And for reasons just like this! If the Rabbi cannot communicate with the people, to try and reach them half-way, then he is useless. The religion is useless. And what of the Rabbi? I mean, what are the villagers going to think of him if he refuses to speak their language? Not only is he making no sense, but he's going to offend them. What kind of message is that sending?"

Dakota takes a breath as he realizes that last bit was almost strained out of him. Was he remembering to breath? Regardless, he continued.

"Setting up traditions that hinder the way you communicate with others is stupid to begin with. The only thing that is -really- important is the core of the faith, of the belief. The nitty-gritty bare-bones kinda stuff. Like the 10 commandments. Real basic stuff! Love God, follow these rules, and thats it. Well, y'know, other than a few small details like admitting you are a sinner and all that..." Dakota waved a hand at this, almost playfully. It was a very important detail, but he was going so fast he just dismissed it for now. They both knew it was important, but Dakota was going for a point here! What he hoped was a fairly powerful one.

"Those are the important things, anyway. The ones closest to Him, the the whole heart of the matter. Traditions are...well, they have their place, I guess, but they are built around the faith, they are not meant to dictate it! They serve as reminders and guides, as ways to strengthen and provide guidance. I guess what I'm trying to say it, no, there is no way to teach a single religion without compromise of some sort. There are some things you can't compromise, those core beliefs and rules I just mentioned, but something as trivial as using icons to talk with people? Well, its trivial to me, anyway, but absolutely."

He finished, taking another deep breath. He really got into near the end, and Dakota realizes this. With a sheepish grin, he adds one last thing. This time in a calmer tone, as he had gotten quite excited as he went on.

"I guess I'll give you a loose example from the Bible, just to show you where my logic is basically coming from. Jesus, Son of God, went and sup'd with the sinners of his time. The prostitues, theives, beggars and the tax collectors." He chukles a bit at that. "At that time, associating with sinners was the wrong thing to do. They were pariahsized by the 'holy', and could only try to seek redemption through the church. The church at that time was kinda corrupt, so only the wealthy were forgiven most of the time. Anyway, he knew better, and he went against the grain of those he sought to teach!" His voice gets a little faster. Apparently he can't help himself.

"Sometimes you have to get dirty to make someone clean. He saw that, and I see it to. Traditions tried to seperate the sinners from the holy, when they are really the same thing. The only difference is that one knows something the other doesn't. Those traditions were wrong, and any tradition that stops the spreading of that message is wrong too."

Dakota pauses for a moment, looking at London. She is paying astute attention, though her face doesn't give away her thoughts on what he was just saying. Did she agree with him? Was she bored with him? The warmth on her face shows that she wasn't angry with him at least.

"I had a point, I swear..." he thinks back to her final question. His face brights up for a moment, and he smiles. "Nothing is perfect, London, except for God. So, there is no way that we can spread his message perfectly, or even assume the specific message is perfect in and of itself. But I think that as long as you keep the message as close to perfect as you can get, and if you can spread it, then it doesn't matter what boundries you have to cross." Within reason, of course, but that is part of his argument. Follow the basic rules, love God, and bam. Just like he said.

He doesn't lean back as he finishes this time, but scoots back in his seat to make room for his foot. A boot comes up and sit on the front part of the seat, and Dakota rests one of his arms on it, leaving the other in his lap. He looked at London, and waiting for her reponce to his (unintentional!) rant.

TI

Dakota is right; London is difficult to read as he answers, but he knows it is intentional. This is not the first time she has prompted their greater discussions with a theological question-and-answer session that often leaves him with more questions than answers. But more and more, he feels like he has the answers right at his fingertips, or on the blunt end of his honest yet uneloquent tongue.

"Well, and here I thought I was playing the devil's advocate, Dakota."

London's smile appears terse, but it is warm and reassuring nonetheless. "It is wise to note, however, that in our day it is the responsibility of the missionary, and not the faith itself, to dictate matters of communication, particularly in the scope of what medium must be used to get his message across. And it is unfortunate that, in the example I gave you, the Church has tenets that work in opposition to the evangelists primary function. I used the example of the Jewish tradition to avoid referencing the Catholic faith," she tells him, a little guarded in her approach to the subject, "but I see that you come to the same conclusions, and draw very few lines between the Catholic Church, the Jewish Temple, or any other organized religion, for that matter. And you acknowledge this about yourself. That is good."

She slides her fingers through one another and sits forward in her chair. "So you posit that a religion in conflict with its evangelist renders the religion useless, as opposed to making the evangelist obsolete due to his coarse but necessary methods. And you back this up by supposing that faith alone is superior to tradition. What, then, is the purpose of tradition? Why do we cling to it? Why do we need it? And if we do not need it, then why do we still have it, and continue to have it century after century?"

Holding up a hand to indicate that she has not let him off the hook so easily, London fishes for more questions in Dakota's theological search. "God's message is paramount, you claim, and any sacrifices can be made to instill into the minds of others. Jesus sat with the sinners and supposedly communicated God's message well, but in doing so, he risked being taken seriously by others who were in equal need to hear the Word of God. It is common knowledge that you cannot please everybody at every time, but different religions try to impart a similar message to different people from different cultures and different economic backgrounds. Is this the only function a religion holds, then? To act as an intercessor, or a messenger, from God? And is it that function which might bring it into conflict with its missionaries, the singular individuals meant to deliver that message to those areas farthest out of the religion's scope?"

A twinkle of inspiration alights in London's dark, questing eyes. "And if this conflict renders religions inherently useless, then, Dakota, what are we to replace religions with? Can the message of the One stand on its own merit or not? If not a structured, organized religion, than what does the Message need, more than anything else? Consider the Sleepers," she adds.

[Thee Independent]

Dakota Bishop

Dakota always looks foward to these theological discussions between himself and London. Through out most of his life, Dakota has sought the truth for himself, never really finding what it is he was looking for. Then after that night out side the club, everything changed. He awoke, and with that, he found the truth. He smiles as his memories leads him down that path, only a minor distraction from the current conversation. He ponders for a moment the happenings of his 'death' that night, and wonders, not for the first time, what all happened that night that he couldn't remember.

But that was there, not here.

His smile changed as London finished. She has a way with placing questions just outside of his reach. He always had to stretch himself to find the answer, just one more inch. Just one more thought. It was trying, sometimes, as it always is between teacher and pupil, but he enjoyed it all the same. It was better than some of the other professors, who tended to look down on the way he looked, and not delve just a little bit deeper.

"Thats...thats a good question, London." He said, his voice shaking just a bit from equal parts humor and nervousness. He feels as if he is falling down the rabbit hole, getting deeper and deeper into the things that matter. He likes the feeling, sure, but it is always new to him, something he just can't get used to. He leans his head back, his hands interlacing together behind him. He proped himself there for a moment, deep in thought. It was a few minutes as he thought about all that she said, grinding the gears as fast as they would go.

"Tradition." He said, still with his head back. He paused again, in thought. Tradition. It was something he had mixed feelings on.

"Tradition serves as a buffer, I think. As a sort of focus for us. The definition of Tradition is, in the paraphrased dictionary of Dakota Bishop, the thoughts, actions, and behaviors that have been ingrained in someone through teachings."

He thought for a moment more after this, sitting back up and facing London. His face was one of deep thought, and rather handsome in the light of her office. A dreaded mixture between sexy and cute, depending on the occasion.

"Tradition is...its kinda like a mold." He brought his hands up, clasping them together as if hold clay, or crushing a pice of coal like Superman might, to make a diamond. "It helps us define who and what we are, at least under ideal situations. It helps introduce us to the bigger truths of the universe, mainly us being the smaller part of it. A hard pill for most people to take. But then, oddly, most people tend to want there to be something bigger than themselves. Its almost instinctful, just another hidden part of the human mechanic.

Tradition, though, when establish, can eventually cause more harm than good. Because, even though SOME things never change, most do. Traditions are establish in the times they are made, and let me tell you, those times are long gone. Some essential things, I guess the intent of the tradtions should remain, but how they are implimented should change."

Dakota fumbles a second as he gets a little frustrated. His words were being elusive. He wanted to say something, and they just weren't obeying his command. Why? He knew what it was, so he should just be able to say it!

"Tradition is kinda like a stepping stone, I guess. I mean, the concrete-I'm-never-going-to-change ones. To get us in the right light. I don't think we should always stay under the oppresive thumb of 'em, right? They were established for reasons in that time, and if you just take them for granted, and follow without really questioning WHY you follow them, then they don't really mean anything to you. Attack them. Fight them. If they are true, they'll stand, and you'll be a better person for it. Gah..."

He gets a little disgusted. He just can't get it out! It was on the tip of that blunt tongue of his, quite eloquent in its hiding. It was almost as if something was stopping him from voicing what he new. As if something were afraid that if he said what he felt, then it would make it real. Dakota shrugs to himself, giving up for now.

"...I don't know what I'm trying to say. But you know, right London? I think you know what I'm trying to get out..." She was pretty good for that, really. She asked questions that would make him THINK, and he'd be buggered if this one wouldn't be on his mind for a while. But she had other questions, didn't she? He wracked his brain, the latter ones forgotten in his search for the elusive words.

Then he remembered the latter questions. They had been biggies, too. He almost winced, but not quite. It showed on his face, however, and it might incite a chuckle out of London.

"...where was I? Faith? Faith! Yes, faith is paramount, London, of course it is. If you don't truly believe in what you preach, then what good is it? I've known quite a few people who said they believed something, only to throw it out the window at the nearest conveniance. If all you follow is traditions, and you don't really believe in it, then the traditions lose its meaning. Tradition becomes even more useless and feeble if no one believe in it."

He holds up a finger as he realized something that London pointed out. "However, thats just traditions. Religion is something entirely different. At least, it is to me. To a lot of people, the words tradition and religion are interchangable, and thats wrong. Religion, to me, is a something you 'feel'. It is kind of like the essence behind tradition. Every religion has its traditions, true, but one comes before the other. People in a religion want to spread the word, and they want to make sure everyone gets it right, so they make traditions to back up the religion. To keep everything in check." That was one bit out of the way. But with London, there was always more-more-more!

"Religion is needed. Just like Tradition, one way or another, will always be needed. People need structure, they need things to be rigid, or have order. I can argue all day about specific orders, and how lots of things need to change for the better, but the concept behind them, the ideals...they're pure. They're right. But they shouldn't be static, they shouldn't just be where they are at and never change. We are supposed to spread the word of God, you're right on that. We are supposed to bring others to him, and live our lives as close to his as we can. So yeah, that is the basic program that we have in our heads, I guss. I found God and I show people that. Its not something I try to do, it just happens. I don't think religion should be replaced, I think we all have to believe something. To replace religion...to try and just take down EVERYTHING...while that would probably be pretty cool to watch in some ways, I don't think it is a good idea. No foundation and no rules is much worse than too many. The lesser of two evils, I guess. What the message needs, I guess, is just more energy. More dynamics."

He smiled, as the perfect way of wording it popped into his head.

"The message needs to wake up."

TI

"Nicely articulated, Dakota," London compliments his closing statement, then glances at the clock behind her. "Do you realize that you spent three-and-a-half minutes sifting through your stream of conciousness to find the most concise response? Others may have said you were babbling, but in truth, you were not. You were searching for Answers. Jesus spent a night on the mountain to find His. It took Moses forty years in the desert. And no one truly knows how long it took the magician who was Buddha. What you should know, Dakota, is that the world is comprised of questions."

She spreads her hands out in a composed display of width. "The Tapestry is a mystery that forces us to ask questions. Traditions provide answers to those questions for many people. If the weight of belief is behind them; if they transcend the trappings of their era in importance; if they last through the changing social and cultural climate, then those traditions become answers. Does this mean that only one tradition is right?"

London collapses her hands and gestures with an open palm towards her pupil. "You said that Tradition is a buffer and a focus. You also said that it is a mold, a stepping stone, and an oppressive thumb," she smirks, curling her fingers back and replacing the hand in her lap. "These are all very different things, with very different meanings. But are they all wrong, simply because they are different?" London shakes her head. "No. They were all answers you found when you just sat down and started really looking at it."

"So if there can be multiple answers to the same question, Dakota, how do you determine, then, which is the most correct? Which is closest to the One?"

As educated by her pupil as she educates him, London dangles a possible clue in front of him, one that she gleaned from his responses. "You say that religion is something you feel. I believe you called it the 'essence behind tradition', if I am not mistaken. Consider that as the essence behind the answers we can glean by asking questions. What, then, would be the relationship between religion and attaining the Answer?" she emphasises. "Do you see one?"

Dakota Bishop

Dakota reaches down for the rosary at his side, absently fondling the crucifix on the end of the crimson and black beads. He does this without realizing it, one of the many signs he gives off that he is thinking. His fingers lightly caress the religious symbol, his finger tips tracing over familiar indentions and carvings. The face of Jesus, the crown of thorns...he knew it so well he could even feel the nails in his hands. Yet not once did his mind go to that horrible day on Calvary. He was thinking about questions. And he was thinking about answers.

Dakota licks his lips, smiling as London mentions how long he took to answer. It had been a difficult question, at least in his own mind. Soul searchng always was, especially when that searching wasn't within your own soul, but within the soul of something altogether bigger than you. Did tradition have a soul? Maybe not in a biblical sense, but it was there none the less. Maybe there was a better word for it, but Dakota dosen't think so. It felt too alive to be anything else. Perhaps too old, as well.

"To find the closest answer?" Dakota asked. "There are several ways to find an answer, London. Lots of different ways. We could make a census and see what the most popular one is...and that could be an answer." Dakota poked a finger out to count, followed by others. "We could try a little 'trial and error'. We could give the Peyote method a try, and try to combine one religion with the halugenic affects of a another. Who to say which method is better than the other?" Dakota smiled a bit, and he found himself wondering why he was smiling.

"Finding the closest answer just means more questions, I think. The world is made up of questions, that is what you said, isn't it London? I think you're absolutely right on that. Tradition helps some people find those answers, I can agree with you on that one, too. But I think it can only help you find so many answers, and only those universal answers, those really big ones that are not so hard to find." Dakota closes his hand and scratchesd the side of his head quickly, not wanting to interrupt himself.

"There are so many questions, London. I mean, I knew that, but I didn't really think about how many there was. Funny, I mean, we sit and do this pretty often, and you would think I would notice a core relation, right? We always talk about questions, never the answers. And, just when we think we have found the answer, there is only more questions!" He laughs a bit, confused at the giddy feeling in his stomach. A realization of some kind? Maybe nothing quite so serious, but maybe important first steps.

"Finding the right answer...you have to find the right question first. Religion is deep inside of us, and we all have it. The answer is out there, and in truth, we all know it. We have the essence, and we have the answer. We are born with it, I think. I think the link, the connection...y'know, the whole jam is linked by questioning it. What do I feel? Why do I feel it? Is it right? Is it wrong? Why? Why not? How come? Is that true? Is it false? To have something, you have to find it. To search for it. It doesn't matter if you have it all along, it if is always with you, because if you don't look for it, it will never have meaning. Twenty bucks in your pocket won't do ya much good if you never try to reach in there and feel around for it, does it?"

That particular image strikes Dakota rather hard, and his mind eye takes over. He sees himself on the street, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out a wrench. He frowns, and reaches for something else, this time producing a rubber duck. Tossing that over his shoulder, and several random objects later, he manages to pull out bead to his rosary. One bead. One tiny little bead. He reaches in again, and pulls out a micro-machine, and sighs. He realizes that he has to keep digging, to keep searching, and each time, it'll have to be deeper, harder, and in different pockets. Maybe even someone elses pockets.

Did he answer her question? He isn't sure if she even wants a straight answer. She already said there was different ones, and that probably applied to every question she could ask him. There were right and wrong answers, sure, but was there just ONE right answer? No doubt. Did he have it? Nope.

"Religion IS the answer, London. I think so, anyway. I really do. But it isn't, not really. I mean...its deeper than that. Its like the answer is in religion, that is is religion, but it is just deeper than that. I just-...its just..."

Dakota stammers, his brain finally short circuiting? It was a possibility, sure, but odds were he was just frustrated by the confines of a non-genius vocabulary.

"It is what it is. I just don't know what it is. Not now. Not yet. But I will." This last part he says with a determination that isn't surprising from Dakota. If anything, it almost sounds as if it is a life statement, a personal mission. In fact, it is.

TI

"Of that I have no doubt," Professor London responds with an air of finality, having processing not only Dakota's answers but his meanings, even if he himself has yet to capture them. "And I can help. I would like you to write an essay on the definition and the function of religion in both Sleeper society and in the Awakened world. Consider the ramifications of history, present culture, and the psyche in determining what you believe religion to be. You say that it is both an answer and a means of searching for answers. If, by the time the paper is due, you still believe this, than defend your viewpoint. Feel free to use as many resources as are available to you: the library, both the school's and my own, the internet, your personal experiences."

Making a faint smile, London reaches out to tap an old-fashioned paper rolodex on the end of her desk. "Your viewpoint can only be enriched by seeking out others that can relate their opinions and experiences with religion to you. That being said, I require at least one interview to be conducted for this essay, but multiple interviews would be ideal. The world does not function in a vacuum, and neither does the Tapestry; it bends and yields to the power of belief. Define others' beliefs, and you may be able to define religion."

Nothing about this assignment is unusual for Dakota's mentor; however, she has never assigned him such a comprehensive and thoughtful assignment. Normally it is minor essays on religious cultures and the mystic arts they may or may not have tapped into. This assignment seems geared specifically towards her pupil. "Since I do not want to infringe upon the time you need to dedicate to your other studies, this assignment will not be due in to me until the end of the semester. There is no page minimum or maximum. Write as much or as little as necessary to answer the queries set forth. And do not forget the value of exploration and your particular means of searching for an answer. I will be judging mostly on content, though I would prefer a professionally written paper. After you have printed it and turned it in to me, I would like for you to keep a copy for yourself."

London folds her hands and smiles. "I am certain that, in time, you will be expounding upon the subject of religion, and you can build upon what you have already discovered."

The Professor stands up from her chair and smooths out her skirt. She bids Dakota to remain seated with a patient hand, and crosses her office to a small panel on the bottom of her bookshelf. As she opens it, cool air spills out of the cubby, the interior mystically refrigerated. "Would you like some juice? Some soda?"

While searching through the hidden minibar, she inquires into some more mundane matters. "How are the rest of your classes? Have you finished your assigned reading for the Eastern Philosophy class? Is Professor Flavier still as interesting in his approach to Ethics in Religion as he was when the semester began? Also, have you heard from your mother? Your father? They were very proud you decided to pursue graduate studies after attaining your Philosophy degree. Even if your father did not necessarily show it."

One of the things London is very good at is getting into Dakota's personal life. But ever since that night outside the club, she had become something more than an educator to him, and had begun to care deeply and pay close attention to things in Dakota's life that he sometimes cannot recall ever telling her about in the first place. It would be uncomfortable, if not for her kindness. She has yet to breach any trust in the burden of her knowledge.

[Thee Independent]

Dakota Bishop

Wow, that was a big assignment! Nothing that Dakota couldn't handle, of course, but it did seem rather targeted. She had given him tons of assignments outside of class, but none quite as exapanding as this one. Interviews? That one alone was a unique touch. The idea of such an assignment surely would have floored most students, but it only makes Dakota smile all the more. It was a challange of sorts, and one he is more than eager to accept. He reaches down for his book bag and pulls out a notebook, and he begins to jot down the assignment. It would be a lot of work...but then again, as Dakota is very fond of saying, 'Nothing worth doing is easy'. Which extended to things worth having, and things worth fighting for as well.

As London rises from her seat, Dakota follows her with his eyes. "A soda'll be fine. Something citrus, if you got it." He replied. With the grilling questions over with, and the assignment given, Dakota relaxes a little as Londons tone gets more personal. Again, most students would get really edgy with such questions and personal prodding, but Dakota and London didn't have the normal teacher/student relationship.

"Classes are going going pretty good, actually. Nothing I can't handle. Ms. Lablanc still puts me to sleep, though." He chuckled. Poor Ms. Leblanc. He liked her so much, but she just didn't know how to make a topic like biblical literature exciting. Sure, the book was some 2000 years old, but there was some exciting stuff in there! It was all about how you dug into it.

"Mr. Flavier's just as interesting as ever. He's kinda like you, London. He keeps me guessing." Dakota leaves out the bit about the reading assignment, possibly because he had forgotten about it. Either that, or he was more interested in his personal matters.

"I talked to mom a few days ago. She's doing really well. Her cake sold for 500 dollars at the church baking auction. She was really excited about that. Apparently it's a new record..." He hesitates here. Like quite a few rebellious young men, Dakota didn't have a very good relationship with his father, the main authorative figure in his life. Honestly he doesn't like to talk about him, but London had a way of asking that just convinced Dakota to spill the beans. It was healthy to talk about it, he knew, and better her than anyone else. He trust London.

"Dad...I haven't talked to him in a while. Not since I left, actually..." He trailed, looking down at the rosary that his mother had given him years ago. "Proud of me? Heh, he could have fooled me, Lon. The man still can't look past his own nose. He told me that at least I wasn't doing drugs anymore. Thats all he had to say about me coming here."

Dakota could feel his anger rising, and he closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. His anger isn't a problem, he just doesn't like to get upset over his father. Two different people from two different times, he knew that. His mother was always telling him how he and his father were so much alike, that that was the reason they didn't get along. Dakota didn't see it...and that might have been what made it seem likely.

"You know, even if I became a priest, I don't think it would make him happy..."

TI

"That is good to hear," London says of Dakota's mostly glowing report of his graduate college experience. She removes a can of generic, store-bought orange-tangerine soda and cracks the seal with a hard thumbnail. "Ms. Leblanc is new to teaching the subject. I'm sure that as she continues poring over her material," she continues, dropping cubes of ice into a small glass while gesturing with her head towards a voluminous set of Bibles, all different editions in different languages, "she will come to appreciate it like you do."

"Five hundred dollars?" London smiles, the dark brown shade of lipstick lightening. "Congratulations to her. She deserves it. I sent her a thank you card for that delicious pineapple upside down cake she made for the Theology Department's Culture Faire. It was a favorite treat of mine while in the Phillipines." Before Dakota gets onto the topic of his father, London hands him a glass full of fizzing orange soda to sip at as he gathers his thoughts and controls his feelings.

His mentor is passively quiet as he talks about his father, returning to her seat across from him with a glass of icewater in one hand. "Some educators would tell you that your relationship with your father is none of their business. But I disagree, where we are concerned," she says, taking a cold draught of the icewater. "At least you recognize that there is little you can do to make the man happy. Spending too much time trying to please him would be a distraction from your own future. You are an adult now, and there are great things ahead for you. Pay him the respect he deserves as your father, and keep hoping that someday he will come to see your true potential. As I have," she adds, making her final comparison point boldly.

"I recently attended a chapter meeting," she says, using a specific veiled language that Dakota has enough experience to decipher. "There were many interesting things proposed and already underway. Are you familiar with the Wilson Space Observatory north of the city limits? A lot of high schools in the area take tours up there to see how an observatory operates."

Dakota Bishop

Dakota nods as he takes a sip from the generic orange Soda. He didn't really care for that flavor, but it was chock full of the essential C's. Caffiene, Carbonate, and Calories. Very important things for people who liked to pull all nighters like Dakota does. Not that those all-nighters were always dedicated to studies. Hardly.

He nods both to her comments about his father, and a bit in responce to her newest addition to the conversation. His ears peak minutely at the mention of the chapter meeting. He knows full well what she means, and he smiles. He brings down the glass and rests it on his knee.

"Yeah, I've been to it once. I think it was back in high school." He thought for a moment, and then made a sheepish face. "I, uh...can't say I remember too much of it, though. I was 'questing' at that point..." Questing, of course, being Dakota's term for doing all kinds of stupid things. All sorts of drugs, religions, sexual experiments...you name it, and odds were that Dakota had tried it. Not much of it legal, either, especially for a minor at the time. He chases the sheepish grin with another slug of soda.

"What kind of things are going on? And, by the way, how are your classes going? Found anyone as stubborn as me yet?" Dakota's eyes shined for just a moment at that, a playful joke between the two of them. He knew he was Londons favorite for that very reason: that he didn't take everything at face value. It lead to interesting arugments between the two of them, many of them in the classroom. Other professors asked might ask her why she put up with it. Lots of students asked him the same thing.

TI

Professor London smirks. "I could teach religion to grade schoolers and I still wouldn't find someone as stubborn as you, Dakota Bishop."

The woman's sense of humor is often as detached and impersonal as her teaching style. "I do, however, have a student who recently transferred to UCLA from Auburn. She is a Baptist with her own ideas about how to interpret the Bible. Unfortunately, she is remarkably resistant to even considering alternate interpretations." London looks over Dakota's shoulders, letting her thoughts wander. "She inspires me to take a sabbatical to the American South, where I might study the Bible Belt culture. While it isn't Palestine, it does happen to be one of the world's better case studies for the religion-effected society."

She returns to the topic at hand after taking another drink of icewater from her glass. The brown lipstick leaves a smudge, and as she talks, she wipes it away with a rumpled napkin. "The Wilson Observatory may seem like an average space museum and telescope to most, but we have something established there," she says, still keeping her words carefully veiled. "In fact, they are going to be embarking on an incredible project very soon, one that has the potential to bring Answers. Their's is an unorthodox seeking. It is catching quite a lot of attention."

Her fingernail taps on the rim of the glass. "I think you are ready for more exposure. You should be there for the presentation. In addition, it might be an ideal location to lay some foundational groundwork down on your semester assignment. They are possessed of a very unique viewpoint, these people at the Wilson Observatory. You know of God's presence here on earth," she smiles, "but do you know anything of His presence beyond that?"

Dakota Bishop

Beyond that? Dakota smiles with an almost helpless tone. No, of course he hasn't, why would he? He was under the impression that God worked exclusively on earth, and why wouldn't he? After all, the bible didn't mention any other planets, or of his will in space, or other parts of the universe. It mentioned the earth and the heavens...but that was about it.

"Maybe you should try some non-biblical language with her?" Dakota offers to London about her newest student. "A bit of ambiguous language outside of religious? That might help her. I mean, if a normal writer can mean more than one thing, why couldn't John or Mark? It might help her to realize that the bible was written by humans, and not God himself." Dakota points out as he drains the last bit of his pop.

"More exposure? Heh, London, you are the only person I know who would say that." He chuckles, and for good reason. Compaired to the rest of the students in the college, Dakota looked much more worldly than all of them combined. Or, other-worldly, as the case may be. But she wasn't speaking of that kind of exposure. She was speaking of something far more powerful than that.

"I guess it wouldn't kill me to give the big scope a visit. Every little bit helps...and if they're unorthodox, then they might just be on to something."

TI

London nods sagely, but will not entertain this discussion of a fellow student any further. "Actually, Dakota, I have already taken that route. She is quite convinced that God not only inspired the text of the Bible, but possessed the writers and put it down Himself. I considered pointing out the threat this belief poses to her concept of Free Will, but in the end chose to wait for the right time. We'll be covering that subject in the next book."

The Professor stands and takes Dakota's empty glass. She is smiling while he chuckles, but her words are very serious. "I see the humor in that, but you know what I mean. There are many things you know nothing about in this world, but unlike others who would be frightened by the prospect of the unknown, or of discovering something that might cause them to question their beliefs, you are excited and eager to learn, to challenge others and, ultimately, yourself. I am very proud to have you as a student. I am even more proud to be your mentor."

Returning to her seat after placing the empty glass back in the bookshelf-fridge, London settles in again comfortably. "Whether or not they are truly on to something is a matter of some debate, though not one I have been involved in. Suffice it to say, they are as unorthodox as you say. You are welcome to pay them a visit whenever you like; after dark is the most ideal time. Many of them have become night owls, engaged in stellar observation both through the telescope and the naked eye. It may seem that the place is closed, but if you a guided entry in, all you have to do is repeat a simple phrase at the entryway."

London smiles. "Fiat voluntas tua sicut in terra et in caelo."

Dakota Bishop

Dakota wants to pursue the conversation about the student, but he stops when he realizes that London is closing the matter. Dakota would like to talk to her himself, but now wasn't really the time for that. Plus, he would be stepping on London's toes, and he doesn't want that. London will teach her what she can, and in that process, if the girl is willing, she will learn. It was simple as that. There was a reason London was his mentor, after all.

Despite the bit of make up that he was wearing, Dakota blushes lightly under the praise. He could handle compliments well and fine, but matters of pride, especially people being proud of him, it is a little unsettling for him. Dakota tries hard to get his father to be proud of him, like most young adults, but to no avail. His father just cannot see through the past, and see Dakota for who he is now It was a great point of saddness for Dakota, and something that London did try to help with as much as she could. After all, it isn't Dakota's fault that his father is so narrow minded. It is a blessing that Dakota favored his mother in most ways, or he wouldn't even be here right now.

"Thanks London. That means a lot to me." He says evenly, smiling warmly. It looks funny when combined with the black mark streaking down his face. That was the wonder of Dakota. The outside and the inside clashes all the time. The smile carried over to the rest of the conversation, especially at the prospect of futhering his own goals of self-discovery. "Night owls? Heh, why doesn't that surprise me? Eh, not like I have anything better to do tonight." He added with a smirk. He is excited about the excursion, but since it is technically 'homework', he feels obligated to show a little scorn, if only to keep up appearences.

His smiles starts to dim as the conversatin winds down, only to grow wider as the familiar language flirts with his ears. It is is poetic 'password', and quite fitting in his own mind. It is small things like that that he is thankful for his studies in Latin. It was the first language for a reason. "Not going to have much trouble remembering that one." He jived, getting up from the chair and stretching. Some might think it rude, but not Dakota. He was true to himself, and London wouldn't be offended. She just gave his mind a workout, after all. His body is naturally goig to feel left out.

"Eyaaah." He almost purred as several vertabre popped. "I guess I'll be bumming a ride outta Michael tonight, then. I don't think the shuttle'll take me that far, will it?" He half-joked. There was always the taxi option, but Dakota liked to conserve his money for more important things. Like eating.

TI

"Sign up for an astrology course next semester and the shuttle might ferry you up there for some stargazing sessions," she jokes in return. "But while your head is still in earth, yes, I suppose you will have to hitch a ride. Feel free to use my phone and see yourself out," she entreats, pointing towards the UCLA line board phone on her desk. "Remember to dial 9 to get out."

Professor London lifts a stack of papers from her Out bin and starts for the door. "If you need me for anything, I'll be checking my box."

Dakota Bishop

Dakota smiles at London at her joke, and begins to walk toward her desk. He nods as she goes off with her papers. "Alright 'Lon, you know I will." He said, and eyed the phone, and then a small clock on her desk. It almost looked like an egg timer, but he knew better. It would be too long before Mikey got out of class. He could still head back to his dorm and do a few things.

He picks up the phone and presses it to his ear. For a short time the dial tone seems to hypnotize him, and he finds himself going over the conversation he and London had just had. Deep stuff, that. Also, there was the matter of the observatory he was going to tonight. What was he going to find there, he wonders? And, what kind of greeting would await him? Dakota has a past of being easily rejected by other mages of his tradition, and for good reason. He lucked out into one of the more stereotypically judgemental of the lot. Though, all of them were pretty judgemental from what he could tell.

His somewhat nimble fingers dialed the familiar number, and he growled at the phone as he had forgotten to punch in the 9. Doing it again, he gets through and leaves Michael a voice message. Confident that Michael will give him the ride, Dakota turns and makes his way out of the office and toward his dorm. He'd need a shower and a shave, and a bite to eat as well. He no doubt has a long night ahead of him. Absently, as he steps into the sunlight, he hopes it won't be a horridly boring night.

[Thee Independent]

TI

His transportation confirmed and his body freshly shaved and bathed, Dakota finds himself wandering the dormitory and waiting for Michael to beat out the traffic on the Santa Monica freeway to reach Hilgard and the dormitories on the east side of the campus.

It had been London's administrative sway that had gotten Dakota Bishop one of the choicest dormitories in UCLA - the southernmost building on a newly constructed Village complex constructed directly next to the Mildred E. Mathis Botanical Gardens. Every morning smells positively delicious, carrying the decadent scents of tropical blooms on a Pacific breeze, all smells that should be found in Hawaii, or Indonesia, or some other Indian-Pacific location. Ripe mango torments his appetite when he chooses to skip a meal to make class on time, but the Botanical Gardens are so full of Life that Dakota can hardly be brought down from the vicarious high the extensive colors and luscious greenery spanning a full seven acres gives. Though the gardens close at 5pm on most days of the week, the admission is free, and Dakota is in close enough proximity that he can often find time to go out and study amidst the palm trees and the devil's walking sticks and the garrulous hysenthia. Many of the other residents in his complex can be seen sharing in the floral wonders so close to home; a junior-year botany student from the Phillipines spends much of her time cataloging the exotic plants all gathered in the Garden, and a man that Dakota can only assume is a lone graduate alumnus still living on the campus spends many moonlit evenings wandering the Gardens after hours.

A horn blares out in front of the dormitory.

"Dakotaaaaa!"

Dakota Bishop

His dorm is something he is always thankful for, each and every time he walks through his front door. It is his own personal haven, his sanctuary from the preassures and troubles of the stressful college life. As stressful as a college like for Dakota Bishop, anyway. He takes a deep breath as he stands in the open door way, taking in the botanical goodness that the garden readily gave. London really knew how to pick'em.

The dorm was quite large, enough to comfortable house four students. It had its own bathroom and kitchen, and a main room as big as some classrooms. It was normally reserved for senoirs and such, but not this time. Dakota throws his bookbag onto his bed, messy and unmade, and walk into the bathroom to get ready for the night ahead of him.

As the door was closed and steam began to seep out from under it, one might be a little confused at the decor of the gothic teens dorm. Where one might expect to see Coal Chamber and Slipknot posters, not a one was on the wall. Countless articles of clothing were sprawled on the foor. Boots, pants, some mesh shirts...all the lovely wardrobe of a dark dresser. The room was also deliciously devoid of a television, of all things. A college dorm without a TV? Impossible! But true! He did have a fridge in his kitchen, though.

The dorm was...surprisingly normal, actually. A book shelf full of philosophical, theological, and other heavy-sounding books, along with the Kuran and the Bible, and several other 'holy books'. Along one of his walls was a shelf holding three swords. A Katana, a Rapier, and a Cutlass. All three of them blades that Dakota had quite some practice with, which was their purpose; practice. They were by no means 'real' swords, in that they wouldn't stand in a fight for longer than a few seconds before coming apart...but they were sharp enough, and weighted properly. A few posters DID adorn the walls and even one on the ceiling, but they were odd ones. One was of goofy, and another? Bruce Lee. And was that Samurai Jack on the ceiling? Aparently the gothiest kid in school had a thing for cartoons.

The steam stops, and a few razor swipes later, Dakota emerges a new man. Shaking his hair out, he slaps on a bit of make up on. Dakota was like many goths in that he loved the cosmetics. Why should girls get all the fun? Nails painted the customary black, and a his trademark black streak down his face and through his eye, he walks over to his desk.

Ah, his desk. Unlike the rest of his room, it was quite ordered and clean. His current choice reading books of reference neatly stacked and ordered, all his pens in place and every drawer closed. It was like a saftey zone in the middle of a battlefield. It also spoke volumes about Dakota. Volumes.

He opened the main drawer and flipped through his calender, taking note of homework assignments that he may or not get to doing. Neat desk, but it was more for personal studies than anything else. Dakota learned things here, but he found that the most helpful knowledge the that of the intimate. What you sought for yourself. He nods, glad that he hasn't anything to really bother him, and he goes to the window. He sits there, watching as the sun begins to say its final farewell for the day, and the spectacle is not lost on him. It is quite beautiful. As it sets, though, the sky gets dark quite quickly thanks to the cloud cover, and the sunset almost seems choked out. Dakota frowns for a moment, slightly troubled by that. Was it an omen? He thinks more about it, and shake shis head. A sign from God would have been more obvious than that, right? Then he stops for a moment. God? Obvious? He chuckles, turning back toward his desk when he hears the horn blare.

"Dakotaaaaa!"

He rolls his eyes at Michaels parental-mocking display, and grabs his leather coat. He locks his dorm, and jogs out to meet his friend.

TI

The restored Z-car with a new engine breathing life into an old system rattles at the edge of the curb; Michael's leather-clad arm squeals as he leans further out the driver's side window.

"The Wilson Observatory? Getting nostalgic or something, D?" he teases, glaring up at his acquaintance through Clockwork Orange mascara and byzantine shadow. "I haven't been there since the eighth grade. It was boring then, and probably still is now. One of your profs making you do indy study there?"

Once Dakota is in the car, Michael hits the gas and rolls down Hilgard towards the northbound freeway. "I considered blowing you off," the ever-honest-and-careless Michael confesses, "but it presented a good opportunity for me to catch up on someone. Chick I met at a rave a month ago lives way up that way. I'll drop you off and head over to her place. Just call me when you're done stargazing. Try to keep yourself busy for a couple of hours, at least, man, alright?"

Dakota Bishop

The car had seen better days, but Dakota couldn't rightly complain. He didn't even have a car, and a freedom like that was something to be cherished. Not that Dakota didn't have freedom...he was free to walk wherever he liked, and he -did- enjoy driving...he just found the expences of a car too numerous and costly after his move to college.

He hoped into the car with a lazy 'huff', and rolled his eyes at Michael, the ever-slacker. "Yeah, London wants me to go. Celestrial realization through the wonders of the cosmos. Y'know, fancy stuff that us college-types like to think about when we're not getting wasted." He laughed, poking fun at the college he went to before Michael could, stealing some of his thunder before he tried to collect it.

He watched the night-settling scenery go by as Michael went on his spiel, and gave him an 'oh-SURE-smile'. "I'm just full of good excuses, man. Heh. Sure, I'll probably be a couple of hours. I'll count the stars or something."

Speaking of the stars, Dakota rolled down the window and layed down on his arms. The speed induced wind ripped through his hair, sending raven lockes flailing in the wind that the fingers of a banshee, and the car engine sometimes screaming just as loud.

To Wilson Observatory and then back again

The drive back to his dorm was as uneventufl as the drive to the observatory, except this time Dakota was driving. After he pulled up into his dorm parking lot, he had a time waking the slumbering Michael and making sure he was coherent enough to drive. All it took was a hard tug on the goth's nipple rings, and he was cursing Dakota and driving off. Dakota chuckled as he climbed the stairs to his room, his mind already racing with the mysteries that the night had revealed to him.

His room was just as he had left it, and he was comforted by the familiar smells and small piles of clothing. This place had become home for him after a while, as any college dorm could become 'home'. It happened sooner than later for Dakota, thanks to his parental home being somewhat hostile. Dakota's father had a severe distaste for his son's taste in company and clothing during his teen years. Dispite his entry to a Bible College and his pursuit of the ministry, he could not sway his fathers opinion of him. Needless to say, Dakota had gotten his stubborness and force of will from his father's side of the family.

Dakota closed and locked the door behind him and then began the dance of undressing. One of the problems with the goth look was the effort it took to perfect it, and then dismantle it. Both processes took a while. But after throwing off most of the gear and clothing, Dakota had changed into some comfortable PJ pnats, and made his way into his bathroom. In there he began to strip his face of all the makeup he had laced it with earlier. His hands moved with the ease of a practiced ritual, and soon the goth looked like any other college kid would wearing 'Invader Zim' PJ's.

Without the makeup and the leather, Dakota could have easily passed as a prep, given his toned body and good looks. The unique tattoo pattern on the underside of his left forearm threw the image off, though. Even Dakota's skin marked him as just a little bit different. It was his own fault, of course, it wasn't as if the ink just appeared under there. He would sheepishly admit that it wasn't his idea to get them, though. He blamed the weed he was smoking that night.

Dakota clapped his hands twice as he sat down at his desk. The wonders of Ebay had supplied him with a clapper, and the ingenious device activated his desk light and his stereo, filling the lit room with the soothing sounds of dark bass driven techno. He dug into his desk and produced a notebook and a pencil, and he began to scribble on the pages quickly, making note-graphs and connected boxes, making a complex of points, questions, and concpets that he had aquired through out the night.

His hand writing was surprisingly neat, and it wasn't before long that he had several pages in front of him, each one holding essential information and ideas drawn from the observatory tour. He wouldn't barrage and pummel the notes tonight he realized with a yawn. He leaned back in the swivel chair and stretched with a few popping vertebre. No, he deceided, he would instead sleep on the happenings of the night, and then read the notes again in the late morning, when he would wake up for his afternoon classes. It was a studying technique he had learned in high school. It was an excellent way to retain what you had learned.

Dakota stayed leaning back in his chair and lazily glanced up to the sword rack above his desk. He normally practiced a few sword katas before bed. Tonight would be no different he suspected, but for now he stayed put in his chair. He let his mind wander and daydream, giving it a small break. His thoughts went from katas, to the observatory, and even to guessing what the 'launch' would be like tomorrow night. He was oddly tired tonight, he realized. The tour had taken more out of him than he had suspected, but then he wasn't that surprised. He new always had a tendency to wear out those that sought it out, after all.

TA

The lights in Dakota's room started to flicker, casting the area into shadows. A blinding white nimbus starts to push the shadows back, away from a single corner of the room. The familiar sound of ruffling feathers and hands smoothing out clothing fills Dakota's ears, and an even more familiar voice follows it.

"So, Dakota, did you enjoy your field trip? Or, should I say fool trip? Aha-ha-ha!"

Lame Jokes. Uptight attitude. Feathery Wings. Prissy clothing. There was no mistake, Dakota's Guardian Angel had arrived.

Dakota Bishop

Dakota sighed as he heard the very familiar voice. His guardian angel. He had heard other mages, precious few from outside the Chorus, refer to something as an Avatar or some such, but Dakota knew differently. He and this guy had serious history, from the first night of Dakota's awakening.

He turned in his chair to face the angel, and by now he wasn't shocked by the look of him. The angel looked just like him, with a few minor alterations. The makeup was gone, and the long hair was cut short, almost as if to a regulation. His clothing was dressy, if not prepish, and he wore wire-less glasses. Of course, being an angel, he had wings as well, but these wings were black, with red highlights. The angel had said several times that this phenomenom was completely Dakota's fault, and the fact that God had assigned the angel to to guard Dakota in his new life. The angel also had the sense of humor and personality of a really bumpy log.

"Heya Remz. I guess you didn't care for it too much?" Dakota said non-chalantly. He knew what was coming, and he made no motions at all to avoid them. Remzarial, or 'Remz', wasn't at all approving of Dakota, even though he was much straighter now than he ever had been.

TA

The angel's black and red feathers ruffled in indignation, and Remzarial shot Dakota a condesending look from behind his glasses. "It seems like they've narrowed the Great Questions in life to a game of Cosmic Hide and Seek! They think if they find God, everything is going to be peachy-keen-and-ice-cream, because the Big Guy is just going to snap his fingers and make everything better." Dakota's mirror clucked his tounge and shook his head. "You know, and humanity should have learned, that things aren't that simple!"

Dakota Bishop

Dakota rolled his eyes almost playfully at the angel. True, things were never that simple, but then again, some things were. God's grace, for example, was a very simple thing. Something that few people never really understood.

Dakota got up from the chair and reached up to grab one of his practice swords. He wasn't being picky, and his hand picked the katana, maybe from a force of habit. As the angel stood there and no doubt glared at his unattentiveness, Dakota started to slowly guide the sword through the air, with his back turned to his angelic guide.

"Actually, if you had been paying attention, you would realize that they are looking for his origin point, not God himself. God doesn't exist on a physical plane, and I'm pretty sure they know that. They are just looking for the point in which he made the big boom." Dakota brought the sword down sharply as he turned around suddenly, as if fending off someone from behind. His slower movements were now picking up speed.

"Though, thinking that finding the origin point will trigger the rapture is kind of far fetched. From how David was talking, it will take several generations to find Origin Point. I dunno if God'll wait that long to make his second coming." A few fast strokes later, and Dakota jabbed the sword under his arm and behind him powerfully. "I have to admit," He continued, "that using God as an excuse to explore the cosmos is probably the best one I've heard so far."

TA

"The big bang." Corrected the angel, apparently not caring that they ment the same thing. "Besides, there's no guarentee that their Children will awaken, in fact it's almost certain that they won't. What happens when the Singers get too old to continue the Journey? Will they leave their children stranded on a planet somewhere? They'd better hope that they make it to where they're going in one generation."

[Thee Independent]

Dakota Bishop

Dakota rolled his eyes as he stepped and turned. He brought the sword from under his arm and up into a twisting uppercut. He wasn't going at a very fast pace, obviously working on form rather than speed. Remz was being blockheaded, which usually meant that the subject matter bothered him. Probably because they were on to something, or so Dakota thought. After all, only things that had potential to make Dakota more left wing in his beliefs got under the angel's skin.

"Rem, you know as well as I do that they meant the children of the chorus, not their actual children. As long as their are people waking up, there are going to be Chorusters, and those chorusters are going to grow in their faith just like everyone else. Thus the 'children' reference." Dakota turned to face Remz as he spun the blade above his head one final time, and then silently brought down in a silky motion at his side, as if sheathing it.

"And they are taking this thing one planet, one step, at a time. Baby steps, even, so I doubt if anyone is getting stranded." Dakota turned to put the sword back with its brothers, and then he turned to face the angel directly for the first time this evening. The two of them didn't look so different, with all of the make-up off. Save for the glasses, different hair styles, and big black and red wngs, anyway. "So, whats eating you, Rem? Something about the whole way of one point ruffle your feathers the wrong way? I mean, y'know, more than usual?"

TA

The angel shook his head, tisking lightly. "You're reaching again, Dakota. The subject is complicated, but not everything is metaphor and simile. But yes, there is something about this that bothers me. Or rather it's everything that bothers me."

"You mortals have a habit of making the same mistakes, over and over again. Timing, for example, is something you've never seemed to get down. Exploring unknown places is all well and good, but it's not a good idea when all of your masters vanish, the faith of humanity flounders deeper and deeper into apathy, and the Horizon chantry gets blown to bits. Looking beyond the borders of earth won't solve these problems. It doesn't take an angel to tell you that this is going to be a disaster, one that will suck you in if you're not careful, Dakota." Lectured the angel, as it bent over to root around underneath the student's bed.

"But I know that you won't listen to me. After all, what to I know? I'm just your guardian angel, a being who's been around countless centuries, watching your every move as your soul moves through incarnations through the centuries. Hey, Doritos!" Remz came up with a captured bag of cheezy goodness, and held it up with glee. For such a pristine, holier-than-thou person, he sure liked his junk food.

Dakota Bishop

Dakota listened to the angel as he sat down in his desk chair. He listened to the angel, as he always did. Despite what Remz thought, Dakota always listened pretty intently to the advice and words that he gave. He just didn't use it most of the time.

"Then when is a good time, Rem? If we can't find the masters, and the chantry is blown to bits, what is there left to do? Humanity has been losing faith since the 19th century, Remz...I think they're just trying to look somewhere they haven't tried yet. You can't fault them for trying."

Dakota smirked as the angel pulled out his cheesy prize. Rem was similiar to Dakota in that he was mostly stuck-up, but on occasion he had small spasms of humor and none-stuck-up-ness, whereas Dakota was usually really laid back, but his desk showed that he was occasionally studious and serious.

"Besides, if you have watched me for countless centuries, how come you won't tell me about my other 'incarnations', huh?" He was curious about the 'incarnations' that the angel spoke of on occasion. All Dakota could get out of him was that as he was now, he was the worst of the lot. Of course, coming from Rem, that was probably the makeup-hate talking.

TA

"More then just faith in the One, Dakota. Faith in themselves, faith in the future, faith in their fellow man!" Said the Angel, pulling the bag open and shoving the cheezy goodness in his mouth, crunching loudly as he spoke. "It seems to me that they're reaching out instead of reaching in. Finding shiny new planets or whatever isn't going to solve any problems."

"Patience, young one." Said Remz in a condesending tone that would put Obi-wan to shame. "I'm certain you've learned by now that Knowledge is power, and that paticular bit can't be trusted with you... yet. When you're ready, I'll show you what you used to be like, and a whole lot more. 'Till then, keep the Doritos coming."

Dakota Bishop

Well, you couldn't blame Dakota for trying to pump Remz for information again. He sighed as the angel crunched on the chips. For an eternal being of the heavenly host, the guy should could pack away the doritos when he wanted to. You would think that, after watching numerous incarnations of Dakota, that he would have found a more refined taste.

But Rem was onto something right there, and it struck Dakota instantly. "Looking out instead of in? Yeah..." He said almost to himself. He spun in the chair gently, before bringing the slight spin to a stop. He was facing Rem when he stopped. "You know what?" He continued as he pointed a finger at the cheese smitten angel, "that's exactly what they're doing. They're looking out instead of looking inside. I mean, I guess that's obvious, you can't get much further then space, but I wonder what made them look that way, huh? I mean, y'know, really got them looking that way. It seems pretty odd, now that I'm not being bombarded by big words and pretty models. Most religions, Christian aside, tend to focus on inner-strength and the power that any given diety can give you personally. I wonder..."

Dakota leaned up and grabbed a book from his desk. It was titled, ironically enough, "If I Believe, Why Do I Have These Doubts?". He was looking for a small bit that he had read in it before, something about what Rem brought up had reminded him of it.

"Thats what was bothering you, Rem." Dakota said as he flipped through it. "You think if they don't look inside themselves for God, and instead look outside, then they are looking for trouble."

TA

"Exactly. There's nothing wrong with retreating from civilsation for mystic insight, many saints did that, but the goal of that is to push away distractions to find answers inside. These people are looking for a place that God might have touched, instead of looking for a place we know that he had, your very own souls!" Pointed out the angel, articulating with a cheese-coated finger. "It's easier to go off exploring instead of meditating on one's own flaws or faith; it's much less painful, at least in the short term. They have a neat idea, but they're persuing it for all the wrong reasons."

Dakota Bishop

In a stunning act of estudiousness, Dakota put down the book he was flipping through and began to scribble notes down as his avatar spoke. Normally he and Rems didn't agree on too much, but on the rare occasion they did meet in between, Dakota found that the angel really did have some good things to say.

"Hmph. Y'know Rem, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were insightful sometimes." Dakota quipped as he placed the pencil back on his desk. The notes would be good to review in the morning, when he would focus on tonights happenings. It was always better to sleep on what you had learned, to let it sink into your mind, and then try to understand it. At least Dakota had found that to be true.

He smiled at the cheese covered finger and went to his bathroom and a few minutes later he came out brushing his teeth. It was getting late, of course, and he had already practiced his sword kata for the night. All that was left was a little bit of personal hygene. He looked at Remz and spit in the sink before brushing more. "What kind of trouble do you think they could get into?"

TA

"Insightfull sometimes? Fah! I'm so insightful that I'm practically a Insight river! No, an insight fountain! Folks would come far and wide to hear the insight Remzarial passed out!" Insisted Rem, shaking a triumphant, arrogant finger.

"Well, I'm not an astronomer or anything, but I can guess. Black holes, meteors, the ultra-thin gauntlet, for example. And all the creatures who fled earth before they could be destroyed by humanities loss of faith. Might as well scrawl 'here be dragons' across the sky." Said the angel, sucking the cheese off of his fingers.

Dakota Bishop

Dakota raised an eyebrow as the angel greedily savored every last bit of Dorito essence left to be had from the bag...and then his fingers. "Here be Dragons, hm?" The goth said. Of course there were many things in the world of mages that were scary and intimidating. Dakota wasn't one to be wary of them, though; unlike some mages, Dakota came into the fold well after the Ascension War, and he was more or less a college student, give or take a few miracles from the one here and there.

"So you don't think they'll be prepaired for anything like that? Those types of troubles? I mean, they are astronomers, Remz...I'm sure they are prepaired for the standard space-traveling obsticles that might be in the way."

Dakota went to his bed, gave it a hesitant kick, and then gave a flying flop into the comfortable tangle of sheets and comforter. "Rem, as much as you love that junkfood, you would think you'd never had mana before. Is it not all its cracked up to be?" Dakota asked with an amused chuckle.

TA

"They'll be planning for the stuff they know about; I'm more worried about the stuff they don't know about." Said The angel crypticly, tossing the empty bag in the garbage. "And I'll have you know that I don't have as much access to mana as you'd think. Doritos are the next best thing."

"In any case, I'd better let you get some rest. Early to bed and Early to rise, as they say. Get some sleep, and don't forget to study tommorow. And for god's sake, change your underwear!" Lectured the Angel, slowly starting to fade from this plane.

Dakota Bishop

Dakota rolled around in the covers in an attempt to get comfortable in his bed. Unlike some college students, he didn't have to put up with the dorm-sized bunk-beds. He had a real bed. "I'm sure these people arn't going into space blind, Rem. This is Nasa we're talking about. Even the sleepers in NASA are pretty smart."

The goth snorted at the underwear remark, and threw a pillow at the diminishing angel. It went right through him. "Doritos are the next best thing? I guess 3 bucks a bag isn't asking too much."

TA

"Things rarely go as planned, even when overseen by 'smart' people Dakota. History should have taught you mortals that. Be careful, Dakota." Echoed the Angel, his form finally fading from view. The young Mage was left alone in his Dorm, with only an empty bag of chips and the memories of irritating advice as the only evidence that he had ever been there.

Dakota Bishop

That was usually enough for Dakota; Rem was best taken in small doses, if at all possible. Dakota stewed over what the angel had told him, and decieded that he would try to be as careful as possible.

The gothic mage grumbled as he realized he had left the light in his room on. Slowly bringing himself up, he hit the switch and crashed back into his bed. Rem was right about one thing; he needed his rest tonight. Even if everything went according to plan tomorrow, it would still be a very exciting and busy day. The mage would need his energy.

He grabbed his pillow and gave it a good whomping, and shifted to grab the rosary under his bed. It helped calm his mind as he said a few prayers, and provided a comet didn't crash into his room, he would drift off to sleep.