For the secret agent there is a loyalty; an oath that he gave to the ambassador of a kingdom that he does not know, for which he is full of longing at all times. He only knows the ambassador of that Kingdom, he always knew about his existence, they met a few years ago, and since then they are in constant communication. Through the ambassador he got to know about the kingdom from which he came and of which he does not know.
A bond of comradeship, deep and mysterious is weaved between him and the ambassador. Wherever he will be he a messenger of the ambassador, a second degree messenger; messenger of the messenger. With the understanding that the ambassador reawakened in him he observes human beings, he is decoding and learning, understands and holds it in trust for the ambassador, to whom he obeys with cleavage and love.
But not always he is out there; cleaving for the mission, executing it – most of the time he is alone, inside, trying to look for the ambassador, looking at home, in the office, sends emails, longing for the moment they will meet.
In the meanwhile, he seats at home, waiting for him.
Sometimes, in the middle of conversation with the ambassador he needs to go and then he is turned to pieces inside. He tries to be at the same time, out and with him, but it is difficult for him in this noise to hear the ambassador and sometimes the noises on the line disturbed him from hearing, until the line is disconnected.
And sometimes the disconnection persists on and on and the ambassador is absent, his operator is missing, and he needs to operate from the memory of the last meeting’s warmth. Time lingers and there is no ambassador. He is there, he is here, he is inside, – but the connection lines are bad, or God forbid – are disconnected, and this is worse than death for the agent.
But with it, he continues with the mission, in or out, but always continues looking, for a sign of communication, from the ambassador
.
***
888
The secret agent in exile –4
Our S.A. is in a lonely road, far away from his homeland. He is different but tries his best to look anonymous, ordinary, and normal. Only he and his recruits know his secret. Only pieces of writing, pieces of wisdom are reaching through his transmitter-receiver radio.
This is what keeps him warm in the cold nights of his exile.
Pieces of inspiration that keep reminding him about who he is and to what he belongs.
His most engraving experience is that he is here, a foreigner, an outsider, who looks at the manners and ways of going in this place, in this society, and he feels their great frustration; the pressure, the effort, the competition, the fate of the sensitive ones, the best of humanity which falls to the margins of what is happening.
But with it, he knows that here, in his exile he is most effective, a representative of the other dimension within the one dimensional existence in this place. And the gap between his homeland and his exile – breaks his heart. The only consolation for him is the seeds of the other dimension that he keeps planting in those who long for the extra dimension.
From all his recruits there are hardly one or two who come to share his destiny (to be a representative of different worlds), they are giving him support and trust when his longing for his homeland are uppermost.
But although this human support is dear to him – he is most content when he ménages to receive another piece of new thought, piece of contemplation, hot pieces of truth, a warm message from his true home. This is for him like oxygen for the drowning diver, he takes one or two inhales deep into his lungs, and he can continue diving deeper and deeper to the uncharted areas of the collective subconscious.
In that he is not different from writers, thinkers and artists – who were in exile from their homeland, and found comfort in their creativity, which only increased while they were in exile.
People in their homeland are balanced and with no urge to receive and transmit messages. Being an integral part of the inhabitants in their homeland – is a stopper for surges of creativity.
But him, being a stranger, an outsider, not belonging – is what gives him the impulse to pass messages from the place they consider as their true home, to this place where they feel in exile.
The secret agents of the other domains
secret agent and the rest:
He seats and observers. Observing always from the distance; a stranger, does not belong, does not mix, does not get lost in a group, and does not belong to a coalition.
He is on the side, focusing the lens of his binoculars, enlarging every detail.
Everything interests him, every face, every expression, and every movement. Observing intensively, carefully, studies all, as though his life depends on it.
Just ordinary people, but he observes as though he is seeing them for the first time. Is Looking but as though he is not looking, photographs with his eyes, records with his ears, but as though he does not – for he is a planted agent, a foreign plant, not from here, a tourist from a different place. His language is not their language and their language is not his own – and therefore he should be careful not to arise unnecessary attention.
He is indeed from the distance, but so involved even more then people in whom he is watching, people that are so close to each other, but so distant, so unaware to that which exists beyond the standard trivia chatter. And him? He is more than aware, he wonders, people for him are wonderful phenomenon. He understands them better then they understand themselves, but he finds it difficult to grasp the enthusiasm in the trivia, the effort in nonsense, the seriousness in nothingness, the hassle in the dullness.
He watches them and notices that apparently all are busy, all are good – but only when they are together, for when they are alone they are either sad or simply empty.
He sees that everyone is playing for everyone, but no one exists for himself, all are shining when they are with others and fading when alone.
As writes R. D. Laing:
“They are playing a game. They are playing at not playing a game. If I show them I see they are, I shall break the rules and they will punish me. I must play their game, of not seeing I see the game”.
”’
The secret agent and the ambassador:
For the secret agent there is a loyalty; an oath that he gave to the ambassador of a kingdom that he does not know, for which he is full of longing at all times. He only knows the ambassador of that Kingdome, he always knew about his existence, they met few years ago, and since then they are in constant communication. Through the ambassador he got to know about the kingdom from which he came and of which he does not know.
A bond of comradeship, deep and mysterious is weaved between him and the ambassador. Where ever he will be he a messenger of the ambassador, a second degree messenger; messenger of the messenger. With the understanding that ambassador reawakened in him he observes human beings, he is decoding and learning, understands and holds it in trust for the ambassador, to whom he obeys with cleavage and love.
But not always he is out there; cleaving for the mission, executing it – most of the time he is alone, inside, trying to look for the ambassador, looking at home, in the office, sends emails, longing for the moment they will meet.
In the meanwhile, he seats at home, waiting for him.
Sometimes, in the middle of conversation with the ambassador he needs to go and then he is turn to pieces inside. He tries to be at the same time, out and with him, but it is difficult for him in this noise to hear the ambassador and sometime the noises on the line disturbed him from hearing, until the line is disconnected.
And sometimes the disconnection persists on and on and the ambassador is absent, his operator is missing, and he needs to operate from the memory of the last meeting’s warmth. Time lingers and there is no ambassador. He is there, he is here, he is inside, – but the connection lines are bad, or God forbid – are disconnected, and this is worse than death for the agent.
But with it, he continues with the mission, in or out, but always continues looking, for a sign of communication, from the
\\
.
The secret agent and the ambassador –2
For the secret agent there is a loyalty; an oath that he gave to the ambassador of a kingdom that he does not know, for which he is full of longing at all times. He only knows the ambassador of that Kingdom, he always knew about his existence, they met a few years ago, and since then they are in constant communication. Through the ambassador he got to know about the kingdom from which he came and of which he does not know.
A bond of comradeship, deep and mysterious is weaved between him and the ambassador. Wherever he will be he a messenger of the ambassador, a second degree messenger; messenger of the messenger. With the understanding that the ambassador reawakened in him he observes human beings, he is decoding and learning, understands and holds it in trust for the ambassador, to whom he obeys with cleavage and love.
But not always he is out there; cleaving for the mission, executing it – most of the time he is alone, inside, trying to look for the ambassador, looking at home, in the office, sends emails, longing for the moment they will meet.
In the meanwhile, he seats at home, waiting for him.
Sometimes, in the middle of conversation with the ambassador he needs to go and then he is turned to pieces inside. He tries to be at the same time, out and with him, but it is difficult for him in this noise to hear the ambassador and sometimes the noises on the line disturbed him from hearing, until the line is disconnected.
And sometimes the disconnection persists on and on and the ambassador is absent, his operator is missing, and he needs to operate from the memory of the last meeting’s warmth. Time lingers and there is no ambassador. He is there, he is here, he is inside, – but the connection lines are bad, or God forbid – are disconnected, and this is worse than death for the agent.
But with it, he continues with the mission, in or out, but always continues looking, for a sign of communication, from the ambassado
The secret agent and the inner being -1
He seats and observers. Observing always from the distance; a stranger,does not belong, does not mix, does not get lost in a group, and does notbelong to a coalion.He is on the side, focusing the lens of hisbinoculars, enlarging everydetail.Everything interests him, every face, every expression, and everymovement. Observing intensively, carefully, studies all, as though his lifedepends on it.Just ordinary people, but he observes as though he is seeing them forthe rst me. Is Looking but as though he is not looking, photographswith his eyes, records with his ears, but as though he does not – for he isa planted agent, a foreign plant, not from here, a tourist from adierent place. His language is not their language and their language isnot his own – and therefore he should be careful not to arise unnesseryaenon.He is indeed from the distance, but so involved even more then peoplein whom he is watching, people that are so close to each other, but sodistant, so unaware to that which exists beyond the standard triviachaer. And him? He is more than aware, he wonders, people for himare wonderful phenomenon. He understands them beer then theyunderstand themselves, but he nds it dicult to grasp the enthusiasmin the trivia, the eort in nonsense, the seriousness in nothingness, thehassle in the dullness.He watches them and noces that apparently all are busy, all are good –but only when they are together, for when they are alone they are eithersad or simply empty.He sees that everyone is playing for everyone, but no one exists forhimself, all are shining when they are with others and fading whenalone.As writes R. D. :
“They are playing a game. They are playing at not playing a game. If Ishow them I see they are, I shall break the rules and they will punish me.I must play their game, of not seeing I see the game”
.Laing
R. D. Laing, 1974
1יוסי אפללו
Gabriel