THE REVOLUTIONS OF TIME
By Jonathan Dunn
Note to the reader:
The manuscript for this book was found in a weather-beatenstone box on an island in the Pacific Ocean. Its contents werewritten in an ancient form of Latin, which was translated andedited by Jonathan Dunn.
Dedicated to Bernibus,
amicus certus in re incertacernitur.
Table of Contents:
Chapter 1: Past and Present
Chapter 2: Predestined Deja Vu
Chapter 3: Zards and Canitaurs
Chapter 4: Onan, Lord of the Past
Chapter 5: The Treeway
Chapter 6: The Fiery Lake
Chapter 7: Down to Nunami
Chapter 8: The Temple of Time
Chapter 9: Mutually Assured Deception
Chapter 10: Devolution
Chapter 11: The Land Across the Sea
Chapter 12: The White Eagle
Chapter 13: The Big Bang
Chapter 14: Past and Future
...The very men who claimed mental superiority because theywere free from superstitions and divine disillusionment werethemselves victims of their own sophism, and while they thoughtthemselves crowned with enlightenment, it was naught but thePhrygian caps of their prejudices toward the material state.
- Jehu, the KinsmanRedeemer
The physical manifestation of the spiritual force is not thespiritual force at all, only a bland deception. If you only focuson what you can see directly, than you chase after only therepresentation and not the object desired. If a bird is flyingthrough the sky at noontime, casting a shadow on the ground belowhim, and a man comes along, and in the hope of catching the birdchases after its shadow, it is evident that he will never catchit, for when he does reach it, he will find that there is nothingthere at all, only the shadow of what it was he desired. So it iswith the spiritual!
- Onan, Lord of thePast
Chapter 1: Past and Present
My name is Jehu. Most probably it sounds foreign andunfamiliar to you, devoid of the qualities of affection andpersonality which give character to a name. It is a harsh name,cold and inhuman, like something out of the night, an unwelcomeintruder into the warmth of familiarity. It inspires no blissfulmemories, nor does it kindle fond feelings in the bosom of thehearer, instead the heart is hardened to it like the feathers ofa duck to water, repulsing it, leaving it to run off into theditches and by-ways of the long forgotten past, to trickledejectedly into those stagnant ponds where so many words ofwisdom are imprisoned: out of sight, out of mind, out of heart,out of history. Yet while history is forgotten and misconstrued,it is repeated, for what is life without water, which nourishesand sustains it, and what is life without wisdom, which protectsand cultivates it?
Jehu is my name, though it no longer bring