Sunday Visitors Interfere with my Intended Work
I was returning from several errands that I typically run on Sunday mornings and as I was climbing the stairs to my chambers, I could hear a very animated conversation bordering upon an utter row coming from my offices.
“What in the name of Pete...” I muttered as I burst open the door. And I beheld a dozen men of various ages, some standing and some sitting engaged in rather biting debate.
From their accents and attire I quickly gathered that a band of Rosicrucians and a hoard of Atlanteans had taken it upon themselves to occupy my chambers. I could tell the Rosicrucians right away for they bore stylized sephoran symbols upon their escutheons which they had neatly laid against the wall and similar designs on their armour breast plates. The Atlanteans were a little more difficult to pin down but their accent bore a resemblance to Tamazigh, the language of the Berbers and so I made a wild guess, and congratulated myself on my assumptions.
But I knew that I had to interefere in this conversation before it got out out of hand. For one reason I had work that I needed to do but secondly, mixing immiscible Rosicrucians with irascible Atlanteans is like adding Hells Angels to Bandidos and expecting Bikers for Christ.
Some shoving had already started between some of the members and one Rosicrucian was already grabbing at the sheepskin cloak of the Atlantean when I pushed myself between them and steered the debate towards the Hermetic roots of Rosicrucianism. The Atlanteans fell silent as the Rosicrucians took the bait and began speaking of the merits of the Emerald Book of Thoth. I replied that I dismissed the origins of that book citing Casaubon and Dee but that I thought both Isaac Casaubon and John Dee spoke eloquently of Rosicrucian merits.
At this point, the Atlanteans broke in claiming that both Hermes Trismegistus and Thoth were Atlanteans and that the Rosicrucians should immediately kneel and beg their forgiveness as their ultimate progenitors. The situation was deteriorating rapidly as the Rosicrucians made hand movements towards their swords and began eyeing their escutheons laying against the wall.
Thinking quickly, I said, “Gentleman, today is the last day for 10 years by which you can observe the Transit of Mercury. Perhaps you may wish to pay tribute to the Great Measurer of all things out of respect to Hermes and Thoth.”
The Rosicrucians, again, took the bait (a little gullible are they?) and rushed out the door. We ran to the bay windows and saw them below, seemingly in full charge, running awkwardly in various directions, armour clanking, swords drawn, asking distressed passersby for smoked glass.
So I now had the Atlanteans to deal with. They stood, again in silence, staring at me rather menacingly through brown beards and bushy eyebrows. Growing a little alarmed, I decided to ask them that if I asked them to leave, as Gentleman, would they do so. They replied that if I did ask them in this way that they would, in all likelihood, take their leave.
So I did. And so did they.
As they donned their sheepskin cloaks, wool caps and began lacing their sturdy sandals up to mid calf, I felt a twinge of remorse at not treating my guests more amicably.
“Stop”. I said.”Would any of you care for a drop of Highland Park before you take your leave.”
The Atlanteans stopped what they were doing, looked at each other and nodded and grunted their approval. I invited them to sit down on the leather chairs and sofas as I gathered 7 shot glasses from the liquor cabinet and poured them each a generous glass. One of them asked if anyone minded if he smoked his pipe, looking at me. I offered my consent and took the opportunity to light my own pipe as did everyone else. After brief introductions and comments on the merits of plug versus flaked tobacco we settled into a very amicable discussion of Atlantis.
I posited three possibilities: the Hyperboreans of Hybrasil, the Guanches of the Canaries and the Nuaghes of Sardinia providing a romantic justification for the first option, a technical justification for the second and a practical justification for the last location.
The Atlanteans insisted that they were from a sunken continent in the Atlantic with one insisting they were Incan. They were prepared to consider the merits of a Tartessian origin over another round of Highland Park but, alas, the bottle had been drained and so they offered to take their leave.
I led them down the hall, down the stairs and out the door into the street and thanked them for their visit. Returning to my chambers, I watched them walk down the street in their sandals, sheepskin cloaks and caps. They broke into an easy run and boarded a bus at the bus stop and disappeared.
By now it was late afternoon, staff was calling for dinner and my time was gone so I am unable to post what I had intended to but do offer my apologies and hope that you will understand.
Cheers and Good Mental Health,
The Commisioner and McKay
