Shoppolis Islands

Riplikin

one-time general and fellow conspirator

corporeal vehicle for ancient feelings and images

answerer of questions, perhaps, answered no other way

storyteller of Shoppolis Islands as well as a proud citizen too

career author, poet, artist, illustrator, philosopher and masonic Druid

Leyland Foster Cannon, author of this Journal, begun in August of 1997

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from a series of articles written to the Araujo Island Gazette, 1998

One:

My name is Riplikin, or so I understand it to be. Since I am a vehicle for information, I can't say that I am gifted, charmed or cursed. I am simply the result of what has been evident since my youth but not understood until lately. To say I have always felt like a "stranger in a strange land" is an understatement. I have never felt at home here. Born in USA, raised as Roman Catholic, experienced as Russian Orthodox, practiced as United Church of Christ, curious about all faiths and a proponent of none, I have searched faiths and those of faith; all of failed. What impressed me? I loved Latin bouncing off the walls of marble, because I couldn't understand the words; it was truly spiritual. When the church went to English, I left. I loved the smell of the incense from the Russian priests, "gospedy pamelyoi," but I grew up; it was truly spiritual. I became a member of something that made me feel like a member, but I was soon alone. I respected the great institutions until they proved themselves unable to create peace, either inside or out. Imagine understanding more without words than with. Those I admired, paled over time and wilted away. I eventually just sat in the air I breathed and wondered.

I am a trained artist, a trained communicator from my degree in English and Creative Writing, an architect of structures by my nature, a student of ancient civilization by choice, a questioner of all that is presented to me, a mentor to youths, a professional communications specialist, a career illustrator, a husband, father, friend, consultant and more. I have always been me, but a few years ago, I was able to understand what that was and is and ever shall be. It hurts to have no friends.

I experienced odd periods of awareness occasionally, and coincidence became to common a word for what I felt. My dreams turned to sessions of inquiry and understanding. I found more than one reason for things. As time went by, I became more curious and was able to withstand more challenges. I considered the other worlds of consciousness, but found I had trouble even understanding the one in which I lived. Soon, I was aware that people would move away from me when I spoke. I thought, at first, I was just unpopular, until I realized I was talking about things they either didn't want to talk about or had no idea what I was talking about. I found myself alone again. Then I realized they knew, but were not conscious of the realities of which I spoke. They were just unaware that they knew. Perhaps, it is my destiny to inform them.

I have always enjoyed the occult and even tried my hand at letting the spirits guide my hand one day. The slashing results scared my wife and me to such an extent, I never tried it again. I still peek around corners, and I still feel I am more than one entity. Just last week, another concept came to me in the form of its usual matter-of-fact manner. I felt the following realization, "You have no identity other than those within you." As usual, I had to think about this. I am still thinking about that. I have seen images when I snapped awake in the middle to see through a dot-matrix veil a sequence of seemingly musical notes passing from left to right. I have had a friend press an unwanted identity from me. A little girl wanders our halls at home. I have seen my universal symbol. I wrote it down, showed my family, promptly lost it and can't recall a bit of the design. So goes the way it has always been and most likely how it will continue to be.

I am not strong at seeing things, but I am strong at feeling things and knowing things. I seem to know them instinctively, but like Benjamin Franklin, find it better to propose things as heard from another. When I have a realization, I am stung with goosebumps, and I lose my breath. Some things are extremely difficult for me to say, and I gasp in front of those listening, if there are any around. Finally, I puff out the results. The most difficult thing I have ever pronounced was that the land, we shall call Atlantis for simplicity's sake, was destroyed by outpost citizens of the same civilization in order to save the civilization they were sent to create. I even cried at that one. To say The Chosen People is not correct. I must say, The Created People.

The consciousness within me had immense difficulty admitting this to such as I. I also found it extremely hard to accept that I was descended from the outpost people of Ireland and had achieved the level of Druid, which is the third and final level. I find myself designing pantheons like my ancestors did for the Celts. I found my name was Riplikin; what an odd name. Survival makes a man resourceful and inventive. Druids are not a race of people; they are a level of achievement for some fortunate individuals linked together by accomplishment, not blood. Those who became Druids through later means are another matter. By the way, not all Druids find drinking blood from skulls attractive, but it does get attention from those who claim to be Celts or those descended from them. Warrior chiefs found the new practice bewildering and profoundly interesting, particularly when studying one of standing before them. What an interesting sight we must have been, and all in the name of surviving long enough to embed our information in stone and in genes.

I don't go around in a cloak, and I don't play the part of a wandering Druid very well, and most likely, I would fail miserably when compared to some of us who "play the part." I am not mystical nor maudlin, and I have a great sense of humor, even though it is just as hard to imagine a laughing Jesus as a laughing Druid. I have written over three hundred poems. I have written a number of novels that I have turned over to my children to edit and polish, and I have painted enumerable paintings, but I always prefer those with architectural shapes. I love architecture, particularly classical, and I am a column person. I love majesty and immenseness, and I love grandeur of universal scale. Storms attract me, and I relish the sea. Since life started with water on a hot rock, I seem drawn to the rocky coast and thundering waves. I like tempest; it refreshes the soul. I love rock.

I began to see Shoppolis Islands two years ago as the result of my children asking me to create another novel, but it didn't turn out as we thought it would. As I created each aspect in print, word-by-word, my kids and others began to admire the work in so simple a medium. They asked why I didn't use one of the more sophisticated writing style, and my answer even surprised me. I responded by saying, some things must be built block-by-block, not by sweeps of ink or swashes of color. A masonic approach is much grander and satisfactorily more enduring than one represented in layers of letters randomly applied or plates of color laid one upon the other or juxtaposed to be more inviting. When I realized I was creating a world, I suspected something. My friend, Edwin Cross, a medium and dear friend, told me who I was by asking me what I saw within, a began researching my supposed past. I was amazed at what I learned about myself. The more I learned, the better I became at being myself, and the more I knew. The more I knew, the more the spirits entrusted me to pronounce. Now, I am a proud citizen of Shoppolis Islands, a refuge and place of rest for those of who find emotional and mental rest elusive. I also fulfilled my obligation to my children to provide a most amazing of stories. I still don't understand being the General sitting in my reception chair on my balcony looking out over my compact garden compound, contemplating what we were about to do. Silence makes one part of the deed, if one knows of it and speaks not. I was surprised that the Kings and Queens among us were the parents of dynasties not controllers of others. Once done spawning others, they sat comfortably at the end of each outpost compound, visited by those curious as to what they looked like and why they did what they did. So be it, then, now and tomorrow.

Shoppolis Islands as a world, seems to be the first step in my assigned duty to reveal a place in time that was destroyed so many years ago by its own people. Imagine a society committing suicide by its actions, and accepting murder as a way to do it. When you figure the first humans we would accept as humans walked out of the fog 200,000 years ago, the first civilized versions approximately 50,000 years ago, and the Created People began their quest toward destiny 10,000 years ago, I believe I have a long way to go to create images of what was so prominent so long ago, so my images can be added to yours and others to finish the entire picture. It is my surmise that we are reconstructing what once was from what we have been lent. In essence, we are not necessarily collectively learning; we are most assuredly collectively remembering. We seem to be a composite memory from which we assemble in pieces. This does not suggest we are as bright as we would like to perceive ourselves. We might just be a bunch of memory chips constructed of carbon rather than silicon. It would be amusing to assume that we would produce things that reproduced themselves in order to have those entities live long enough to do the the job intended for them to do. Or is that a fact? Who are we really?

I am not suggesting that we are just dull, simple tools, but the way we do things seem to be more memory driven than not. We seem to discover things within ourselves then blurt them out. I believe that at some point in history, we will begin where our forefathers left off....then we will have to think and move on. Until then, I think we are just discovering what we already know but have forgotten. We have to improve our ability to remember more than our ability to run fast. It is within the genes of some of us to do so, reluctantly or otherwise. It is destiny, and destiny is a firm taskmaster. Have you noticed that you seem to recognize others when you walk past them? Do they recognize you?

For my part, I am proud. I am pleased to be able to discover who I am and what roll I might have in the vast picture. I am pleased to have added some dimension to those who inhabit my new home, Shoppolis Islands, and I welcome you to it. Market your wares, relax among the virtual throngs; try to remember, study the patterns; see what you might see. Join me and my world; it is for the taking.

Two:

(to be continued)

Presentation of this paper in this format produced by Alexis Brandenhoff of Araujo Island Gazette; graphic by Pius Lane.

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