2. Written by Who

“Did I not tell you they would think you had gone screwy for saying you talk to trees?”

“They were not that way. They even believed it.”

“Did they? Listen.”

“What are we to do about that boy?”

“Why? What has he done?”

“I thought it over, Darling. Trees do not talk.”

“Maybe it is a spirit or something?”

“In a tree!!”

“You are right. Huh! I hope he is not schizophrenic!”

“What is that?”

“It means the boy has gone screwy!”

“Now just a minute Grandma. He is just a little boy. Maybe it is just a phase he is going through. You are making it out to be his all forever.”

“You are right. But being a boy his nature is that of a man my wife.”

“The boy is screwy.”

“He seems just fine otherwise. Besides is it crazy to think a tree can talk and talk both parts. Maybe he will grow up to be a famous author.”

“Oh, please! You have him writing Shakespeare's Sonnets already.”

“I did not mean than Mom. Maybe he is learning how to make up conversations and tell stories already at his age? My son! The author!”

“Maybe dear. Well, I am almost done with that motor. Maybe I will sneak over there after I am done? Just to see?”

“There is no need.”

“Aw. Mom? Is that the way you were with me?”

“You have always been screwy. You are almost there with him right now listening to what is in your own brains. Remember the time you you thought you were alone in the room with the cat but the dog was along side the sofa. The cat's mew you could not hear for the puppy barking and you tried for weeks to tell me the cat barked?”

“How do you know it was the puppy?”

“I could see them both. Remember! Cats do not bark. Dogs do. If I have to tell you that one more time I will have you locked up!”

“If cats could bark it would just be a whimper, Honey.”

Laughter.

The boy came to the tree, greeted it, but when it did not greet it back he found a soft place to rest his back against the moss and sand to sit on and waited.

I let him wait an hour and a half and did not even have be restless just to remind you he could not have known to name me John. Somebody had to do it. What do you think? Would I have him give me my real honest to goodness name to put me in the story to make it true or some other name to cause it to already be just a scenario? Or... Was there someone else, someone neither of us knows that gives me ideas without my brain even realizing it.

“You did it.”

“Did I?”

“I put all these words in you to write and you write them. But�"”

“You mean I might be writing it with you?”

“I am not writing this at all. It just feels like I am sometimes. I may have thought of this segue to keep your readers curious. But there really was nothing unusual about you choosing your own name but that.”

“Maybe that is all that is unusual that needs to happen?”

Silence.

“Are you using your might on me too?”

“Maybe?”

“Neat. Turn the story over to me. You just read along like everyone else?”

“Can you write?”

“I do not know what I can do but think what is in my brain, the mind of God and the ways that are not God's ways but are yet good you put in me.”

“Do you not even know yourself?”

“Not much.”

“Okay then. You have got her. What happens next?”

“I do not know.”

“To be a writer you have to know what happens next. To be an author like me you have to have some idea of how it all turns out even if it is a 120,000 word novel. But you do not know. Make something up then. I will straighten it out if it is not right.”

“Like what?”

“You have everything practical, everything impractical, everything fiction and all the babbling of the completely insane and incommunicable to choose from. Go ahead. Pick something. Anything.”

“I know what I will pick but I will not tell you.”

“Will you tell the tree?”

“That is you.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. What about my name?”

“You did that to spirit me away?”

“Who wondered what name he would pick?”

“You did.”

“What did he think mind?”

“I do not know. You were both thinking at the same time. All I heard was you think, 'What if I had him call me by my own name?'”

“What did you think?”

“You spirited me away from my own thought when the next thing that happened was you had him pick your own name. You did not even hesitate.”

“Or you did not.”

“I do not do things like that.”

“So are you spirited away or not?”

“Not.”

“Are our readers?”

“Some.”

“We are all spirited away. Where are you going with this?”

“You know me. You do not know him. At least you think you do. But he is setting us up to spirit us away by vowing not to tell me what happens next or was that me spiriting you all away to this very conversation?”

“It was me. You used it to spirit us away this way.”

“So, I spirited you away either way! Am I clever? That clever?”

“Nah. That is just the way you took it.”

“Aha! But your refusal to tell me what happens next changed the way I went with it maybe?”

“It did.”

“Mind, did it?”

“Of course it did.”

“But brain directed it. It is no longer only my story. It is his. He had the reins I was just the mule before the shay. I was willing to go anywhere he wanted to go. So who is actually responsible for the way it went. You mind?

“No way. But I see what you did.”

“I do too.”

“Is it where you wanted to go brain. You should never do what you do not want to do. Now you have written an entire chapter just by pulling on the right rein and letting the other lay on the front rail of the shay. I just wrote what I had no choice but to write. It is not my fault. But whatever happens next you will tell me just like you did that time. But neither one of us has headed out on this trail before. Do you think our readers saw you spirit us all away this way? You are clever whether you knew it or not; very clever.”

“I did not even know it. You made me look clever.”

“Everybody is clever if you create them that way like a shill. My spirit thought this was really stupid at one point. He did not interfere. He just warned me. It put me in a slightly different mood but he did not tell me what to say.”

“Well, it was all taking place in me. I do not like being made out to be this dumb.”

“Stupid maybe? But not dumb.”

“I see what you are doing. It is fascinating in a way.”

“Should you show people how to carry others away? That is pretty personal. You are letting it all hang out.”

“I always do. Do I not? Who actually wrote it?”

“You created it. We all wrote it.”

“No I did not. Someone else wrote it. Brain made me write the truth. It is all true by the way. Who is truth?”

“Some say Jesus is the Spirit of the Truth. Some say the Holy Spirit is?”

“Who do you say it is, I AM?”

“Me.”

“Me the spirit of your mind or Me the Spirit of God?”

“It is the same.”

“What do you say God?”

[That is I AM and Me.]

“I did. It was me. But I am not the spirit of truth but reality.”

“It must be wise to show people how to spirit others away. Have you ever known God to do something foolish? Me? I AM? Jesus? How about you Most High?”

“God's foolishness is wiser than our wisdom,” wrote one of the prophets. I forget which one. That is all just a scenario to me now in this context anyway.

“In every context.”

“That was fun, Me. It was in you all the way except the shill, the little boy, and he was in a way.

“I have very few shills in me.”

Do you see? A brain has a mind and a mind has a spirit it is in at all times. A mind has a spirit. But a spirit, even Me, has minds in it. It is like having an environment your thoughts, words, actions, decisions and emotions in like my spirit has been where I was in all my life, you too, but Me is will only allow you in her when you are good. But the point I was going to make is they are a mood that can speak and a mood is like an environment you have to be in no matter what you say or ask. Like a tree?

I wrapped his tree in my spirit. He just pretended I was in the tree. Now look what just a little misunderstanding can cause to happen. They can carry you away like a spirit or even just spirit you away until somebody gets to the bottom of it, straightens it all out and explains it. I was not even in my spirit and I was writing both sides of a conversation between shills that not only had never been before but had never thought anything, said anything or done anything, none of the four. Are you human or did you start out as a shill the day you were born.

“I take that back. I have lots of shills in me. Everyone ever born was a shill born into me.”

That's another way for a shill to begin. Most never become anything else but they believe even what humans who make up the elite tell them. Is brain and his mind of God one of the elite or no? He is but they do not know him or where he is. All anyone knows is he is going to have to start being a writer pretty soon and then maybe go on to be an author if his plans are my plans and we write a novel or even a short story. I plan a novel of 120,000 words. Let us see whether he has it in him. Shall we? Together?