Re:Past is a modern myth, a teaching story for our times. It is filled, as all great myths are filled, with extraordinary characters, amazing incidents and, above all, the power to awaken the innate wisdom of humanity. In this book the truly magnificent and accessible character of teachers such Plato and Buddha is revealed, as, over delectable luncheons, they return to the physical world and remind humanity of our potential and role in the great scheme of things. How is Socrates feeling 2500 years after drinking the hemlock? What would Machiavelli say today? Who is Mencius? Can the idea called Money speak? How will the natural world respond to the incredible inflow of power and knowledge depicted in this book? What will happen to the two fine people who act as hosts for these incredible guests? These and many other questions are addressed in Re:Past, which includes recipes for the luncheons and historical biographies of each of the guests, making it an eclectic and unique delight.

Author: Mason Smith
Genre: Philosophical Fiction
Pages: 200
Price: 29.99 CAD Size: 4.75" x 7.5" Quality Paperback
ISBN: 0-9688139-2-5

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Re:Past -The Story, The Biographies, The Recipes

“Did you say that?”

“No, I didn’t say that.”

“Well, they’re saying you did.”

“You’re kidding! It goes against everything I’ve observed, everything I know. I couldn’t have said that.”

“Well, let me be more precise. They’re saying that’s what you meant. And, what’s more, they’re saying that you and I, our thoughts, are the foundation, or a big part of the foundation, for their present civilization, their present attitudes - you know, the whole mess.”

“Damn! I wish I could set them straight.”

“I’ve been pondering that problem, and I think I have a solution.”

“Let’s hear it. I’m getting agitated.”

“Well, why don’t we invite ourselves to lunch on the manifested, physical plane, and, over a pleasant repast, speak for ourselves.”

“Can we do that?”

“Silly, All is One, we’re part of the One Mind, so of course we can, as long as we can find a mind open enough to include us.”

“Of course. You know, I think there are quite a few people who’d like to speak for themselves. Should we pass the word?”

“Well, let’s not make it a banquet. Let’s try it out first, find an open mind in a conducive setting, and see how it goes. I’d rather not be forced to present myself as a burning bush! Ithought a nice little tête-à-tête over lunch would be very pleasant.”

“Yes, yes. But where? Who? If our words and teachings are being so twisted, when they aren’t being ignored altogether, do you think we can expect to find anything pleasant?”

“Oh yes. I’ve done some research, and I’ve found the physical world is never without those who know, love and understand wisdom. They still laugh and give. I know it’ll be no problem.”

“Then how shall we proceed? What can I do?”
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“You check the inner net and find the thoughts that are vibrating at a receptive level, a level receptive to us. The source of those thoughts will have a consciousness that’ll include us, so we won’t be shocking or upsetting in any way. Will you do that?”

“Gladly.”

“When we find a suitable host for the luncheon, I’ll research their language and available food stuffs, and we can set to work on a menu.”

“You seem more interested in lunch than in the opportunity to speak for ourselves again!”

“Found me out, did you? I miss garlic. I think this whole endeavour was inspired by garlic. When I heard your words twisted I instantly thought of garlic, and the whole plan unfolded. Isn’t it amazing, the inscrutable way things work out, if you keep listening?”

“Oh yes. I’m always rediscovering how the oddest things lead me on in understanding the universe and how it works. Just the other day, when I was taking myself too seriously - but enough of that. Let’s get on with the plan.”

Later (if one can use that term outside of time and space!):

“I’ve found the persons and the place!”

“How exciting, tell me.”

“Well, it’s in Canada.”

“Well of course, yes.”

“Pine trees for good reception, on a lake, surrounded by water on three sides as a matter of fact, with water lilies - great symbolism. Chaos is at a minimum. We should be little distressed.”

“What of the chef, er, I mean, the people?”

“They study the wisdom of the ages and live it the best they can. They have wonderful gardens in spring and summer. They live simply, and one studies philosophy - which is something quite rare these days, you know. They have a Great Dane.”

“Really!?”

“I knew you’d be pleased. And I’ve saved the best for last. They love to cook. They even grow their own garlic.”

“Heaven.”

“The gardens are mostly flower, a great variety, but there are herbs and garlic.”

“Now, do you think they’ll respond to our plan?”

“I have no doubt. These are fine human beings. They aren’t at all emotional or selfish. They’ll look upon our visit in the right light - without glamour, without ambition, and without the disbelief that would make it impossible for us to appear.”

“I’ve been pondering how to present it to them. I thought a little note in the mail, inviting ourselves to luncheon, would be appropriate. What do you sense?”

“Perfect.”

“Now I’ll just brush up on English, or is it French?”

“English.”

“Fine, and drop them a line. Do you think we should include a menu?”

“I’d send that later.”

“Okay.”

“Well, we’re under way. I can’t tell you how liberating this whole opportunity is for me. The whole spirit of our endeavours has been forgotten. It’s just unbearable to be chained by words, misunderstood. Our ideas have been twisted, made to serve such folly; it makes me cringe. Let’s get on with it.”

“Right. I have the note right here, it’s all ready. I just need you to show me where to send it.”

My Dear Companions,

May we come to luncheon on June 21st, and speak for ourselves? Send us your thoughts.

With Love and Appreciation,

Plato and Aristotle

P.S. Menu to follow

“What have you written?”

“Here, take a look.”

“What do you feel. Is it alright?”

“Yes, it’s just fine. You know, the effects of this luncheon will be significant. The expression of our thoughts once again, on the physical plane, will be powerful. True, only our two hosts will hear us, but our thoughts will be renewed and available afresh for every human being, every mind on earth. It’s such a wonderful plan.”

And it came to pass that the invitation to invite Plato and Aristotle to luncheon was placed in the mailbox on the edge of the lake, on a fine spring day.

It was just before noon when Effie went to pick up the mail. She walked through the gardens and down the road. Each stroll brought different aspects of life to her attention. Today the daffodils were fading slightly, but the roses were promising to be spectacular; the red-winged black-birds in the marsh were settled in to their northern routine; a wren had taken one of the bluebird boxes, and it amazed Effie that such a small package of life was so purposeful in the busyness of housekeeping. Yes, every step, every gaze informed, delighted and puzzled Effie. By the time she reached the mailbox, she was beyond surprise.

Effie opened the door of the box and removed the contents. She found only one thing that looked interesting. It was a little envelope. She put this in her pocket and proceeded back down the lane, stopping midway to inspect the rose bushes. She was checking to make sure they were free of those green caterpillars, the ones that eat all the leaves. Last year they were on every branch by this time, but this year, as yet, there were none to report. Every year was different.

Back at the house, Ben was in the living room, working on his doctoral thesis. He was quietly clacking away amidst a sea of open books, which were scattered around on the floor. In front of him, on the big dusty table, was “the technology,” their name for the computer. Ben heard Effie returning from her stroll, greeted her warmly, and continued with his typing.

Effie and Ben were companions. They were people of like mind. There was no “relationship” between them in the usual, romantic sense, with all that that implies of possessiveness and insecurity. Instead, they were enhanced, enriched and encouraged by each other. They found great joy in living and working together.

Effie, standing in the kitchen, opened the letter and read. She sighed and said softly, “what a good idea.” That was all. She walked over to Ben and placed it on an open book. He read it and said, “did you write this, Effie? It’s a great idea.”

“No, it came in the mail.”

Ben pondered for a moment. “It’s about time, isn’t it?”

Effie beamed. “I wonder what the menu will be?”

That evening, as the sun was setting, they formally sat down together and respectfully invited Plato and Aristotle to luncheon on June 21st. They expressed their total support for the plan and their eagerness to receive the menu.

“Plato! Good news. We’ve been invited, it’s a go.”

“Wonderful. We were lucky, finding Effie and Ben and a prepared site. You know, in these times, we could have found strictly the wrong sort; some spaced-out buckeroos who’d think we were aliens or spirits or water nymphs. And then our letter would end up on the front page of a supermarket newspaper, a tabloid I think they’re called. Really, it would’ve been so undignified. We must thank them for the work they’ve done.”

“Yes, I know. It’s because of them I think the time for our plan has come, and it gives me heart. By the way, the word is spreading. Others know what we’re up to, and several of our friends have expressed an interest in using this inlet.”

“It is a great opportunity. I was recalling something Rudyard Kipling wrote: “If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken/ Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools.”

“He surely captured the essence, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Our work, when it’s remembered at all, is presently used to limit, rather than encourage and expand. Oh Plato, that was the essence of our striving, and so many who have lived on earth. To find our work used to limit and restrict thought, or to have it vaguely associated with the irrational nonsense of Western history, I wonder that I’ve been able to bear it. But I think I always knew the time would come when we could set it straight. Who knows, maybe we’ll be called upon to set it straight again, and again.”

“Ever thus, dear Arie, ever thus. I recall another poem by Rudyard. Shall I recite it?”

“Certainly.”

“It’s called ‘The Disciple,’ :

He that hath a Gospel
To loose upon Mankind,
Though he serve it utterly -
Body, soul and mind -
Though he go to cavalry
Daily for its gain -
It is his Disciple
Shall make his labor vain.

He that hath a Gospel
For all earth to own -
Though he etch it on the steel,
Or carve it on the stone -
Not to be misdoubted
Through the after-days -
It is His Disciple
Shall read it many ways.

It is His Disciples
(Ere Those Bones are dust)
Who shall change the Charter,
Who shall split the Trust -
Amplify Distinctions,
Rationalise the Claim;
Preaching that the Master
Would have done the same….

It is His Disciple
Who shall tell us how
Much the Master would have scrapped
Had he lived till now -
What he would have modified
Of what he said before.
It is His Disciple
Shall do this and more….

He that hath a Gospel
Whereby heaven is won
(Carpenter, or cameleer,
Or Maya’s dreaming son),
Many swords shall pierce Him,
Mingling blood with gall;
But His own Disciple
Shall wound Him worst of all!”

“Thank you, Plato. For some reason I’m reminded of Socrates. I’ve always appreciated him so much, especially his example of how each individual must become responsible, skeptical, observant. We must each strive and seek, learn and know, lest we become the irresponsible disciple. This helps me hold to a path that leads always to greater clarity. It’s a shame that so much wisdom has been abandoned.”

“Well, never mind just now. The time is at hand. Let’s review our proposed menu, one more time.”

“Ben, the menu is here.” Effie held out the card which had just arrived in the mailbox. A rather child-like hand had carefully printed:

Re: Luncheon, June 21st
Sauce Aioli, raw vegetables, a chewy bread,
fried parsley with lemon (to cleanse the palate),
a Sicilian cake.

“This’ll be delightful,” said Ben. “You know, I was thinking about Rudyard Kipling this morning, and I got out his Collected Works. I opened it at the poem, ‘The Disciple.’ It’s most appropriate; you should have a read.”

“Ha! I read it before bed last night, as a matter of fact”.

They looked at each other, directly in the eyes, and grinned.

“Hmmm,” muttered Ben.

Effie ran her finger down the poem. “Is it always like this? Are the thoughts immediately diluted and distorted? Can we think of anyone whose teaching or demonstration has remained pure? More to the point, has anyone improved upon them, developed them, grown them further? You know, staying true and flowering over and over?”

They sat quietly and pondered this for some time. They had lunch. Every so often one of them would begin to speak, only to shake their head and fall silent. Finally, Effie said, “what we’re looking for is a dialectic that’s gone on for generations or centuries, always growing and bearing more and more fruit.”

“This isn’t easy,” said Ben. “I can find great thinkers, creative builders in thought, even those who demonstrated through themselves the truth of what they knew, but it seems to die with them. It’s as if their livingness on earth vitalizes the idea, but when they physically leave, the essence goes with them. Does that mean that nobody got the point, that no one really listened and understood enough to embody the spirit of the idea?”

“That’s the question, isn’t it?” replied Effie. “I wouldn’t say nobody got the point. That could be a bit too strong. I mean, Plato seemed to get the point of Socrates. Actually, there seems to be a community of individuals, a group that bridges time and space, and all divisions of race or religion. They live wisdom. They sincerely inquire, and there’s a remarkable unity, an essential unity, in what they teach and demonstrate. They are the threads of gold in human history. But what about the bigger scale? Does humanity at large ever seriously follow these heroes? Learn from them? Has life ever been consciously patterned after wisdom?”

“I was thinking of Confucius,” interjected Ben, “and for a long time, supposedly, his concepts guided China or the Middle Kingdom, and it flourished. When Western explorers arrived they were amazed at the high standard of living and the cleanliness of the people. Some philosophy, some guiding ideas, based on Confucius, must have allowed humans to flourish.”

“Yes,” said Effie. “Ancient Egypt is probably another example. For a culture to flourish over a long period, it must be allowing humans to live in a way that’s conducive to sustained growth. The guiding ideas must be flexible enough for diversity and change, or there’d be perpetual chaos, and pettiness. If growth is restricted, then there’s upheaval. This seems to occur in every civilization, eventually. The spirit of the enterprise is lost. The society becomes rigid, crystallized, over-burdened with laws and beauracracy. We forget that the guiding ideas must fit humanity, just as the soil and water and sun must fit the plant if it’s gonna’ flourish.”
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There was a little silence. Effie seemed poised to continue, but before she could speak their attention was caught by something that sounded like a galloping horse, or rolling thunder. They knew perfectly well what it was: Dante, the Great Dane, was returning from one of his strolls around the property. As he ran along the side of the house they could hear him without seeing him, and then, in a flash of grace and power, he appeared, darting across the front lawn. The chipmunks and squirrels scattered up the oak and ironwood trees. They chirped and chattered at Dante, telling him to go away so they could continue their luncheon at the feeder, which they shared with the birds.

Dante ran up the stairs that led to the sliding patio door and was the happy recipient of pats and hugs. Soon he was ensconced on the floor with a chewy bone, and Effie continued as though there had been no interruptions at all. “What I’d like to know,” she said, “is why ideas that disrupt human flourishing are implemented in the first place? Why are they seriously considered? Isn’t that like putting a plant in a closet?”

“Yes,” said Ben. “I think that’s what goes on today. Humans in closets, in darkness, in a cell, imprisoned by mean little ideas. That’s why Aristotle and Plato wanna’ speak. They’re called the foundations of Western thought - the thought that has brought us to the brink of physical, emotional, mental and spiritual disaster. I’m not surprised they wanna’ set the record straight.”

“Yes, it is amazing how wrong we can be! For instance, it seems that all the ‘greats’ have so much in common, yet their teachings have spawned conflict, violence, intolerance. Is it that humans are incapable of understanding these things that the ‘greats’ sense and seem to know?”

“Well, Effie, you’re a human, do you find many of the ‘greats’ impossible to understand?”

“No, I don’t. In their caring and devotion to humanity I find a companionship that bridges all time and space. I love to study and be with them in spirit.”

“You’ve said a mind-full there, old friend. You include them. I think humans can comprehend anything if they put their mind and heart into it. There’s nothing that stands in the way. In fact, many sages say we’re perfect, but we just don’t realize it.”

“I’ve found that comes through all the wisdom I’ve ever read,” agreed Effie. “Sometimes I don’t understand the symbolism or the analogies, but the basic essence, the fundamental ideas, the fragrance and the flavor, the concern and the gentle guidance, these I can feel, and they move me. I don’t mean emotionally. No, it actually moves me, expands my consciousness, and I move into it. Am I being at all clear, Ben?”

“Oh yes, I know what you mean. It’s like the way travel expands your horizons, except this is inner travel, that’s all. We’ve traveled far enough and wide enough that Plato and Aristotle could find us. You know what I mean? We’ve expanded enough to include them in our consciousness. There’s no gap to cross, so they can come to lunch. Right?”

“Well expressed, dearest,” beamed Effie, “and I was thinking they might enjoy some olives. I mean, is it too presumptuous to assume that Greeks would like some olives?” This she was muttering to herself as she went off to the kitchen to work out the little details.