Peter did come back to Albuquerque, New Mexico after his reunion with the Dogs in San Francisco. He had a hard time leaving his tribe but they seemed to understand when he told them about Bonny and Thomas. He had promised to keep in touch. Bonny picked him up at the airport. She looked so grand. They went to a friend’s house and made love in a large waterbed for hours.
 “How would you like visit a unique place,” Bonny asked as Peter gently played with her chocolate-colored erect nipple.
 “Sure, what is it?” he said absently.
 “I have a friend of mine who is doing a video on the history of atomic research in the state, tomorrow she’s going to the Trinity Site to do a shoot. She asked me if I wanted to go along for the ride and help a bit with hauling around some stuff. I figured you’d be interested so I told her that you and I would go with her. They only allow the public there twice a year.”
 “Sounds great, but one question.” Peter sat up and a wave rolled under them.
 “Yeah.”
 “What’s the Trinity Site?”

 Next day, Peter met Sophia Greenwald, Bonny’s filmmaker friend. She was originally from Brooklyn and still resonated with her Jewish New York accent. It reminded Peter of back home in the Catskill mountains where he had alot of friends who had come up from the city. Her straightforward hussle-bussle energy pleased Peter and he immediately liked her.
 While driving, Sophia popped in a tape, saying: “Here’s this great new band I heard about.” The Sun Dogs began singing A Mid-Summer’s Day. “Cool tune. I heard they’re coming to Albuquerque soon, I hope I could get tickets.”
 Bonny said,“Well, Peter here…” Peter gave her a light pinch that made her turn with a annoyed look. Peter gave her a sign to be quiet and said, “Sophia, what do you think of this band. What do you think they’re trying to say?”
 “Hum. They’re saying quite a bit. Everything from burning the bible to having visions in caves to making love in the moonlight. I know Bonny here is into this Pagan thing and I’ve been to some rituals myself. I like the impulse to move our spirituality closer to the rhythms of nature. It’s a feeling that predates all the organized religions.
 “Let’s see, I find The Sun Dogs’ message both intriguing and disturbing. The Bible is a history of my people and burning it disturbs me but I do get their point on a certain level. We do need fresh revelations in order to survive into the near future. I’d hate to see the baby tossed out with the bath water, that’s all. I mean: what if someone decided to burn all the books retelling the tales of the Holocaust. As a history alone, the Bible deserves preservation. Though I know enough of it and have an intellectual distance to see it doesn’t paint a pretty tale. Yet it is a powerful story of my people and has had a wide-spread effect on many other cultures and religions. And as with any people’s history, especially in those days, they don’t pull any punches. For them it was survival against hostile neighbors and the need to maintain the group’s identity — well, if you don’t have some roots then where are you?
 “I’m intrigued by their more positive messages of earth-centered ideas. I also see the earth as a potential garden of Eden. Besides, the tunes are catchy and I hear they do a fun show. It would be great if they focused on those more positive songs some more instead of playing up the shock value card. Yet I can understand that in this world of high volumes and constant data streams, how else can you be heard? Does that answer your question?”
 Peter smiled. “Yeah, I dig what you’re saying. They’re pretty wacky people alright. Well, I know some people who know some people who could get us free tickets when those Dogs come to town.”
 “Really? Cool, that would be great. Could I invite a friend?”
 “Of course, the more the merrier.” When Peter returned his gaze back to Bonny, she wore a sweet tight smirk. She whispered in his ear.
 “I’ll keep your secret, my darling. I’m happy you don’t flaunt your success.” She kissed his rough unshaven cheek; it hurt her lips. She didn’t mind however. That’s what happens when you get close to someone: you feel their roughness as well as their smoothness. And Peter did have some nice smooth parts.
 After a long haul across a wasteland, they stood at the base of a black stone obelisk. Peter wondered which was stranger: a monument to a bomb or the people murmuring around it in the middle of this desolation. Like it was a Holy Shrine to the God of Wanton Destruction, the people walked cautiously and quietly, some gingerly touched the smooth stone, some stood transfixed as if in prayer. Sophia and Bonny negotiated the cameras and sound equipment while Peter carried the spare battery packs and tapes. The sun was unrelenting and the light glanced off sharp edges making him wince, he prayed that he wouldn’t get a headache. As far as he could see, there was no place to hide and smoke a joint.
 “The first atomic test explosion,” the ranger began as he walked into the monument area surrounded by this band of modern pilgrims, “known as Project Trinity, took place in the predawn hours of July 16,1945. It was called Trinity because they only had been able to make three bombs by that time. The detonation was the result of more than two years of nuclear research at Los Alamos Scientific Laboratories. The top-secret project to develop an atomic bomb was known as the Manhattan Project and the bomb exploded here was called “Fat Man” due to its rotund structure.
 “The test site was here in the north-central portion of the 4,000- square-mile White Sands Proving Ground, which was later renamed the White Sands Missile Range. Chosen for safety and secrecy, this remote area of public grazing land had become deserted during World War II, when the War Department took control of it for use as an aerial gunnery and bombing range.
 “In final preparation for the rest, the plutonium core from Los Alamos was assembled at the McDonald Ranch House. The bomb was placed on top of a 100-foot steel tower designated Zero. Ground Zero was at the foot of this tower. Seismographic and photographic equipment was installed at varying distances from the tower. Other instruments were set up to record radioactivity, temperature, air pressure, and other scientific data.
 “Three observation points, wooden shelters protected by concrete and earthen barricades, were established about five miles from Ground Zero. A fourth observation point was at Base Camp, 10 miles from Ground Zero. A fifth, located 20 miles away on Compania Hill, was the observation point for most of the scientists and observers present for the test.
 “The detonation of the bomb at 5:29.45 AM produced a blinding flash of light, followed several seconds later by the shock wave and sound. The effects of the blast were seen and felt over a radius of at least 160 miles. The flash of light was seen in Albuquerque, Santa Fe, and El Paso. Glass windows shattered in Silver City — a distance of 120 miles.
 “Immediately after the test, a lead-lined army tank was used to explore the site with measuring instruments and to scoop up soil samples. The steel tower had disappeared except for the steel stumps of its legs, embedded in concrete. Surrounding Ground Zero was a crater about 400 yards in diameter and 8 feet deep. Sand in the crater had been fused by the intense heat of the blast into an unique glass-like substance that was given the name Trintite.
 “Information about the test was released only after the atomic bomb had been used as a weapon against the Japanese at Hiroshima and Nagasaki, on August 6th and 9th, respectively. Trinity Site was fenced off and closed until 1953, when much of the radioactivity had subsided. Then, in 1965, this black lava monument was erected at Ground Zero with this inscription, as you see here: “Trinity Site, Where the World’s First Nuclear Device was Exploded on July 16,1945.” In 1975 a second plaque was added to the marker to designate the site a National Historic Landmark by the National Park Service. In 1984 the McDonald Ranch House was restored to its 1945 condition.
 “Today few signs of the historic explosion remain. The bunkers have been torn out, and the crater formed by the blast has been filled in.”
 On the way home, rolling along on I-25 in the dark, they talked quietly and constantly. The reality of a nuclear explosion, the first one in the United States, struck a chord between them. Sophia’s presentation, she hoped, would spread this realization much further.
 “That was only a small explosion,” Sophia said, “equivalent to some 20,000 tons of TNT. Now they have Hydrogen Bombs that are equal to 20 million tons of TNT or more. It boggles the imagination.”
 “How did you get interested in all this?” Peter asked.
 “Well, as you know, I’m a history major but I wanted to learn to use video to bring history alive for the general public. I read a book called Brighter than a Thousand Suns, A history of the atomic scientists. This inspired me to leave New York and come here to compile data and get my master’s degree using this period and region as my taking-off point. Also… I had a dream that came to me as I was struggling over whether to enter this program so far away from home.”
 “Tell us your dream,” Bonny said. She loved to hear people’s dreams. Her and Peter shared their dreams as they cuddled in bed that morning.
 “O.K. Now I had been reading up on this subject already but the vivid images in the dream brought them to life as never before.
 “The dream began with me standing at a bus stop. A yellow school bus arrived and I boarded. After sitting for awhile, I noticed that I have this dull gray metal box on my lap, in the center on top is this red button. Then the bus hits a big bump and I accidentally push the button as I’m tossed out of the bus onto a grassy knoll. I watch the bus roll away and disappear. In the sky, a window appears. The window just floats there and slowly opens. Through the window I can discern events happening at a great distance. I see then a nuclear explosion, silent like those stock films from the forties. The window closes and vanishes. Next it begins to snow, a snow that is not cold. I have to keep brushing it off as I search for a place to hide. I find a cave and wriggle inside. As I sit, bored and cold, these tiny mutant cows like gadflies keep landing on me but, as I brush them off, they die instantly. Soon I crawl out and find myself at the bus stop again. The same school bus pulls up and I again get on. There is no driver or passengers yet the doors close and it takes off. I watch the scenery, green grass and forest dark. Along the way are these blocks of marble, or so I thought, but upon closer inspection they turn out to be people encased in the snow that I escaped. They look like those unfinished carvings of Michelangelo which are called ‘the prisoners’ or like those plaster casts from the excavation of Pompeii. Their faces and gestures were locked in frozen horror, trying to flee some unimaginable doom, petrified in their fear. Just then I realized that I was the only person left alive on the planet; everyone else was dead. A grief embraced me as I never felt before and I wept hot tears. Then I awoke and knew I needed to face my fears and follow this path.”
 “Wow,” Peter whispered. Bonny stroked Sophia’s hair.
 The wide night on that desert plain crept close and sniffed at their thoughts while they rode silently back home.
 

Zeitgeist

Now and then I have some time
to sip my words that taste like wine
and hopefully I’ll make them rhyme, too.
Teachers tell me “better act your age”
and I agree that it’s just a stage
but who put me in this gilded cage with you.

A Chinese girl she holds my hand
and suddenly I understand
how love will make you change your plans so fast.
Then my mind will run amuck
and everyday I curse my luck
then I think, “what the fuck will last?”.

 Everyday it rains — no one here complains.

Hitler wrote a book of poems
and sent it off to Sherlock Holmes
who said it rattled like the bones of Jews.
Now Adolf’s in high society
making jokes of you and me
and how we veg and watch TeeVee like fools.

The simple life in days of yore
of kings and queens and inquisitor
of elves and pyramids and dinosaur are gone.
Yet if you look its still the same
the guilty have just changed their names
and we are left to push the game along.

 Everyday it rains — no one here complains.

In a search for the missing link
it drags me right up to the brink
when I peered over what do you think I saw?
A child skipping across the waves
upon her lips are words of praise
and, don’t you know, she wants to save us all.

Now and then I have some time
to sip my words that taste like brine
and hopefully I’ll make them rhyme, too.
But in the end the clock winds ‘round
I will lay my tired body down
and listen for that silent sound ring true.

 Everyday it rains — no one here complains.
 Everyday it rains — no one here complains.
 Everyday it rains — no one here complains. . . .
 

 A low rumble approached like a whale clearing its throat. A sound that caught George’s attention while he dawdled over a sandwich and a trashy paperback detective novel. What is that? Louder now. George got up to investigate. Out on the porch, he craned his head to see a large panel van, forest green with no obvious markings, ever so slowly lumber up the driveway. Strange.
 Maybe it’s a package, or somebody lost.
 George stepped out on the porch and approached the truck. It stopped suddenly and then spasmed. All the doors flew open and out vomited five or six shadowy figures, hooded with black ski masks and with sub-machine guns waving, sparks of terror ignited inside of George. A voice within him screamed, “Run, you fool”.  But he just froze and they were upon him.
 Yelling macabre threats, tossing him up like a red rubber ball, they jabbed at him playfully, buoyant and frisky, then they beat him to the ground. “Damn heretic… We’ll show you… not so tough now, huh?”
 Where’s Carol, George thought, as the intense shocks and pain wafted through his body. Where’s Carol? Oh, she went to pick up Melanie at school. Maybe they knew that, perhaps they had waited to pounce when nobody was around. Nobody around. George curled up in the dust and dirt as blows peppered down. Hurled into this avalanche of senseless violence, it reminded him of the schoolyard bullies of his youth. Grown up now they’ve come back to get him once again, I wonder why.
 Not meeting much resistance the gang became bored and pulled him to his feet. Bound and gagged, they carried George into the woods. Branches snapped. Fresh fallen leaves slithered. Oh, they got me now, probably kill me, ah yes, after the torture, the torture comes first then the murder. I hope it is quick, I hate pain. I wouldn’t be a very good martyr. Quickly, efficiently, silently — the bullies carried him through the pine forest, dappled in light and shade.
 They stopped and dropped him.
 Looking up George saw a circle of glittering hard eyes and ski masks that hovered like a brood of constipated vultures croaking to each other. “What’d you wanna do first? Didn’t put up much a fight, what a wuzzy. We should just do what we planned and get going.”
 They hauled him to his feet and pushed him up against a big pine tree. George moaned as the broken ribs stabbed him with fresh vigor.
 “George Applegate,” a stainless steel voice rang out. “You have been convicted of the crime of Heresy for writing of words in contradiction to the Most Holy Scripture, for promoting these despicable ideas and luring the faithful into Sin and Error. You have made a Mockery of God’s Sacred Word and therefore must suffer the punishment of His Wrath as dictated by His Most Holy Representative on this Earth. Do you have anything to say for yourself?” They removed the greasy gag from his mouth.
 “Uh — who are you?” Was all he could get out before the leader whirled and said: “Sir Knight, carry out the sentence.”
 George’s hands were unbound and lifted over his head. He glanced up and saw them positioning a large spike and hammer. George turned his head. Suddenly he felt like he was holding up a great weight, it crushed his spirit, he started screaming. They slapped and punched him until he stopped screaming. “Take it like a man!” He ground his teeth together when they nailed his feet down, then they wrapped a rope around him and the tree to hold him up.
 Far-off, sirens nervously twirled the air. Mister Stainless Steel Voice advanced on George, grabbed his face and said: “Have a good time in Hell, Professor Applegate.” The man stabbed George once in the gut and then strode off.

 George opened his eye, his left eye, the other sealed shut by the dried blood and dirt that caked his entire person. He watched the last of his tormentors run off, kicking up a flurry of dried leaves in their wake.
 The sirens stopped suddenly.
 Silence. A silence surrounded George and seeped into his racked being. The sharp pain of the nails driven into his hands and feet gave way to a warm throbbing sensation. Odd, he thought, very odd.
 The forest was bathed in a green-golden light. Birds chirped overhead, the chirrr of a cicada rose and fell.
 Where is my body. I don’t feel my body. George looked down and saw the thick jelly blood pool soaking slowly into the earth. This earth sipping his blood like a glass of burgundy. How is it, he asks the earth. It was a good year, the earth remarks, although the aftertaste had something to be desired.
 George thought he heard something. He looked up. The light streaming down through the trees grew brighter and swirled ever so slightly. The light took on a density and moved towards him. Odd.
 The light took form before him. Vaporous at first the light gained density and color then condensed into a person. A long tan robe, dark brown skin, reddish-brown hair falling over his shoulders, peaceful yet alert eyes. “Jesus,” George whispered in recognition, “am I dead?”
 The man moved towards George.
 “You may call me that if you wish, but I’m not the Jesus who lived and then died. I am, what you might refer to as, a concept, an archetype, perhaps even as a god. I am all these things and yet none of these. I have been with you much over these years, influencing your creative activities, inspiring you, being your muse, so to speak. You have been most enthusiastic in that regard.” This Jesus sauntered carefully before George as he spoke, like giving a personal lecture, moving about absentmindedly as he spoke, not giving any indication of empathy regarding George being slaughtered on this tree before him. His appearance then shifted, now he was clean-shaven with short curly black hair.
 “Dionysus,” George said.
 “Very good, I am he as well, I toast your health,” he held up a glass of wine with a queer half-smile. “As I was saying, your book was fairly close to the mark and that’s why you’re in such a predicament. The powers that control this world don’t like their myths messed with, but soon their star will fall and I will take my rightful place.” He swallowed his glass of wine, laughed aloud. And as he laughed, he grew into a huge man with the legs of a goat, a smell of sweet moss and jasmine, and a set of horns. The great god Pan.
 “In my many guises, I have evolved on this planet to serve as a repository of wisdom and revelry. I am the light that knows the dark. I am the way through the wilderness. I am the bread of life and the wine of grace. My seed dies in the Earth and then is reborn to replenish it. The beauty of the world excites me to join with her in joyous abandon.” His phallus hardened as he danced a jig. “But I also know the need for sacrifice, give life to have life, and in the old days they would perform human blood sacrifice in their ignorance. That changed to animal sacrifice and that changed to the first fruits of harvest and so on. All I really desired is that people should see themselves as a part of the whole and find it in themselves to give for the greater good of the community. Your Jesus found himself caught up by my mysteries and thus his legend was born. Yet his legend grows old and the evil men in this world use his star to dazzle the people while they do harm to Our Mother.” Pan shook his head and shrunk to a small boy, sky-blue skin and golden hair. Lord Krishna. I hope he doesn’t start chanting, George thought.
 “People sing praises to me with hopes for salvation and a release from the wheel of existence. This must not be, the only salvation is in Life. The people must care for that which lives, and, know now, that all things have life, from the rocks on the ground to the stars in the heavens.” The young blue boy scrutinized George sorrowfully. “I come to you not to preach or for you to take what I say to the people, others will do that. I come to tell you that your sacrifice is not in vain and that peace will someday be yours.” He smiled and metamorphosed into a man, a most handsome man wearing tight leather pants.
 “Jim Morrison?” George couldn’t believe his eyes.
 He laughed wickedly. “Just another one playing out my mysteries, many do, some more successfully than others. But before I leave,” he became deadly serious, “talk to your son, Taylor, talk to him while you still can, he needs you and you need him.” Jim smiled, lifted up a jug of wine to his lips and drank deeply. “Enjoy the blues while you still have them.” Then he laughed. A intense white light encapsulated him and he became that Light. The Light filled the woods and George closed his eyes against the intense brightness.
 The Light faded.
 George opened his eye. Looking around the autumnic woods his didn’t see anything or anyone.
 I might die if I’m not careful, he thought, and for some reason this stuck him funny and he weakly smiled. The pain and weakness rose up from his gut. Oh, what a way to go, he thought before he passed out, I probably look vile.