My beloved family has embarked upon a short, and hopefully refreshing, sea-journey to Oslo, Norway, with the purpose of driving up to the mountains while the road is still drivable. Our cozy little mountain cabin is waiting to be prepared for the winter. The chimney has to be covered to prevent snow from entering the fireplace, and the water tanks with the hoses and the pump must be emptied, or things will freeze and become useless.
I myself have chosen to stay put, wrap myself in warm blankets, drink cinnamon tea, and nurse my sore throat in an attempt to fight off a beginning cold.
Besides, being home alone, I’m free to concentrate on my writing ( or any other nonsense I decide to indulge in), without interference.
Here in Denmark, we are entering a new season.
A somewhat hot summer is rapidly being replaced by a rather windy autumn.
Soon there will be winter.
It will be a mild winter, according to the weather prophets.
I don’t believe in prophets.
Prophets are not in control of the weather – or the seasons.
But they sure can create turbulence!
In Pong City
there are no focus on seasons:
Indeed; ignorance is bliss…
But on the other hand,
one can never really predict the intricate migratory patterns of electrical impulses between synapses in a nonexistent brain.
So; in case any citizen of Pong City should incidentally happened to develop an interest in expanding their horizon, the Creator has furnished them with a library.
Quite risky, of course, allowing non-existent being to enter “The Realm of Knowledgeâ€: There’s always the odd chance that someone – someone once a free spirit – might stumble across the big puzzle – If I’m not real, how can I have free will?
Well…
At this point in the story, I will tell my girls about Urðr, Verðandi and Skuld – the three Norns of the Norse Mythology.
Their primary task it is to water Yggdrasil – the tree that connects the Nine Worlds.
But that's not all these three females do. When they are not busy hoisting water from the well, they spend their time spinning the threads of life, weaving the faith of every living being into the endless tapestry that predicts ( and decides) the destiny of gods and men, and everything in between.
Keeping one eye on the past, one eye on the future, and one eye on the present, these women are the cause that creates the effect.
Once bitten – twice shy?
… or are all our choices and actions controlled by the sum of all effects generated by all previously existing causes, dated back to the beginning of time?
Mr. Pong
is not concerned about free will.
He has other things on his mind.
For several months now, Plaza Mañana has suffered from depopulation, due to the booming noise from the building site.
Now, as the new (and quite ugly) office building have finally been erected, the plaza is once again a peaceful place, and Plaza Mañana is slowly coming back to life.
New elements have been added. There are interesting tings to watch…
senior citizens enjoying a bottle of Tignanello …
prominent people in need of transport…
and lovebirds.
Has someone walked away from their shoe-wear? Maybe a peg-legged sailor have finally given in to an old dream, and is walking barefoot around town?
Be that as it may...
All in all, things are seemingly back to normal at Plaza Mañana – except for one thing…
At the library,
Mr. Pong is struggling with a book written by a foreigner called Thomas Hobbes – a book selected for him by his wife.
Written nearly four hundred and fifty years ago, it explains the relationship between society and government – exactly the kind of knowledge that Mr Pong seeks.
Yet it’s a book he finds a bit demanding to comprehend.
From his desk by the window, he can see that night is falling.
His eyes are unconsciously drawn to the illuminated billboards on the newly erected office building across the street.
“Vote for Charlie – Charles Temple for mayor.â€
– All these posters, he thinks, – wherever I turn my head there’s the same poster!
Himself he had never needed any poster. Mr. Pong had always been the only candidate – until now.
But at the same time he was grateful that the city had been plastered with these tasteless posters.
– A reminder, Mr. Pong says to himself, – a reminder of the very reason he had become one of the most frequent guests here at the library.
In his earlier life, Mr. Pong never experienced any cerebral blasts from reading books.
In his earlier life, he preferred illustrated magazines and comics, and could easily digest a dozen a day.
He had once read that an image can say more than a thousand words, and had found this to be a both relevant and pleasant concept for his approach to literature.
The more images and the less text – the greater his pleasure.
In his present life, however, Mr. Pong has come under the impression that books with more words than images could propel a progressive, not to mention necessary, increase of his intellectual capacity. This new understanding (although he still prefers his Italian comics), is what has driven him to explore the contents of the public library with a growing appetite.
– This Hobbes-fellow is not easy to digest, Mr. Pong says to himself, as he puts the book away, – but it’s important, he continues, – very important!
But so is dinner!
On his way home, Mr. Pong stops for a second, looking with dismay at one of the numerous election posters for Charlie Temple, and finds himself creating a mental preview of their coming debate:
– Mr.Temple, he would address him politely, – do you feel you have the power to protect this city?
Mr. Pong is imagining that Mr. Temple will answer something like: “Power? What are you talking about?â€
And then, Mr. Pong will strike. In his mind he can hear himself quoting Mr. Thomas Hobbes:
– As you are most surely familiar with, Mr. Temple; in a society, the citizens’ obligation to the sovereign will last only as long as the power by which the sovereign is able to protect them, lasts.
Mr. Pong smiles.
– How will you react to that, Charlie Temple? Will you consult the Tin Man?
cec
