Paul transubstantiates, again.

A random segment of an on-going story. Jump in! And thanks for the comments.

That night, at 1:00 a.m. in the morning, according to Paul’s notes for December 16, 2017, he had spent the most sensuous night of his life in bed with Akira, making passionate love, when he awoke with a psychedelic flashback. That was not the correct term, Paul knew, for the nanites were not psychedelic drugs, but it was the only experience he could compare it to. Regardless of what he should call it, he awoke with a bolt of terror, which slowly transformed itself into a feeling of rapturous Love with a capital L. It was a feeling of warmth and unusual sensations that went beyond his sexual encounters with his soon to be wife. He felt a glow in his heart he had never before experienced, and wondered at its absolute magnificence. He felt as if he were being cradled in the hands of God himself. He threw off his blanket and saw his body swelling and contorting as if forces within him were about to break through to the outside and reveal the truth of the entire Universe. He wept in the feeling of Love that encompassed him. He had never before felt so unconditional acceptance of his presence and being. His arm briefly shriveled and changed color to a golden tan, shrinking, pulling back in length as if he were no longer a 6’4” pale skinned Irishman, but a 5’4” golden hued Egyptian. Suddenly, he saw his feet shrink and change from a pink-skinned, no melatonin afraid-of-the-sun Gaelic into a brown, sunburned man of desert. His skull ached, and as he touched it, he felt the bones of his skull, especially his jaw and those above his eyebrows reassembling beneath his skin, almost as if he were reverting to a Neanderthal, but, deep inside him, without seeing himself, he knew the change could not be that drastic. He knew he could not be regressing that far back. He knew he was once again reassembling into Christ. But he knew not how. He experienced several shocks at the base of his skull, and he knew that his face, if he looked into the mirror, would be unrecognizable as the Paul he knew. He felt his chest shrink in size, decompress from his years of weightlifting and bodybuilding, so it no longer felt massive, heavy and muscular…it felt trim and lightweight, as if his entire life had been spent walking, jogging or hiking, with no bulk. All the while this was going on, he was laying rigidly on his back, completely naked, completely awake, and completely conscious of Akira lying naked beside him as he prayed not to disturb her slumber. As he stared at his body transmogrifying into Christ, he knew he was awake. The images were eidetic and conveyed more a sense of reality than he had ever experienced.

Akira began to become roused by Paul’s initial commotion and the moaning she heard from the initial the ecstasy he was feeling, and drowsily asked if he was all right. He answered yes, of course, not wanting to worry her. By great effort, during this incredible transformation of his physical form, he got off the bed and immediately fell to his knees; not out of fear or out of pain or out of weakness, but because he felt an overwhelming pray and give thanks for the Love he felt.

“Hishtahawa… Histahawa…Hishtawa,”  he began chanting, neither recognizing the words nor knowing where they came from.

A moment later, Paul was able to stand once again and made his way into the bathroom, where he immediately closed the door, turned on the light and examined himself in the full-length mirror. Others had told him he had turned into the image of Christ, but he never believed it. Although he had seen his image on social media, that image was unclear and unconvincing. He was now hoping he could witness this “miracle” himself. All the while, his body continued to rumble, crack and buckle, and all he saw reflected in the glaring yellow light of the full length mirror was a series of separate, indistinctive evolutionary images of himself, flickering one after another in the mirror, none of these images lasting more than a second. The images were mostly Egyptian, Iranian, Syrian or otherwise desert dwelling men: tanned, short, and rather puggish looking. One flashing image Paul saw resembled what he thought was a Lemur, delicately fingered, perched in a tree, clutching a branch and staring out the soft, delicate and enormous soft, watery eyes.

That image didn’t fit.

The entire experience lasted just a few minutes, but to Paul it was a lifetime of wonder: then it was over.  He stood in the bathroom staring at his tall, pinkish body, frozen in time and space but oddly exhilarated and thrilled as if he had just made the discovery of a lifetime. Akira had gotten out of bed. She called at him through the bathroom door. “Paul? What are you doing? Are you okay? Come back to bed. I need you.”

“I’ll be right there. I’m fine,” he reassured her. Women seemed to always need comfort and reassurance, he sighed to himself. He emerged from the bathroom and headed for his desk. “I need to make a few notes before going back to sleep,” he said, turning he light back on.”

More later.



Paul turns into Christ? How?

A random segment of an on-going story. Jump in! Thanks for the comments.

Jac Forsyth was not a medical doctor. He was the founder of the Perilous Physicist Society, and had known Paul for years. He had decided to examine Paul himself, not to take any credit if something special should be happening, but to keep Paul’s condition secret. Hospitals, Doctors and the entire medical community were required to file reports, and that was simply no way to keep a secret.

As promised, Paul met him the next day at the Lab with lunch, with Akira and Lasseter in tow. Jac interlaced his fingers, pushed them outward until you could hear the snapping and popping of his knuckles, then rested his elbows on the desk, placing his chin between both palms, and began. “How do you feel about the increase in your intelligence?” he asks.

Dumb question. He’d known Jac a long time and expected him to get right to the point. “How can I complain? I love it.”

“Great,” says Jac. “Are you still hallucinating? Seeing visions?”

“Not at the moment,” Paul responds, winking at Akira. “Except for her. She’s so beautiful and I’m so much in love, I think she must be, if not a hallucination, at least a vision…or an angel…” Akira and Lasseter both laugh but remained surprisingly quiet. Lasseter wasn’t even enjoying his flask. They both just listened.

“Why do you ask?” Paul queried.

“So far we have found no adverse effects of…what should I call it…your nanite infection…but according to the fMRI machine, your brain seems more “unified” than normal. Different regions of your brain are communication with each other in an abnormal fashion. It’s very similar to a brain on LSD or some sort of psychotropic drug.”

Paul nods. Lasetter reaches for his flask. Jac continued: “Now I have to ask what might seem like a strange question. Are you Catholic, Paul?”

“Lapsed, like most Catholics.” There was a long pause. “Why?”

The silence in the room continued and Paul could hear the sweat dripping down his forehead. He reached across the desk, helped himself to a large gulp from Lasseter’s flask and took a deep breath.

“How is that even relevant?” he finally asked.

“Let’s say you were tripping, as if on LSD,” Jac responded. “You hallucinations were so powerful, they actually changed your physical form. Your body morphed into the image of Jesus Christ not once…but twice. Or, more specifically, your body changed into what you believe Jesus Christ looked like. There is a scientific explanation, Paul, but, like most physicists, this is just another thing I find hard to believe…but as I stare at the evidence, I simply must accept it.” Jac sighed, lowered his hands to the desk and stared at Paul.

“Go on.”

Across the desk, Akira was taking deep gulps from Lasseter’s flask. They were smiling and murmuring to themselves, seemingly having their own party.

“Catholics have an old saying,” continued Jac, “Give me your children and you’ll have a Catholic for life.”

“And…so what?” Paul urged, breathing quietly.

“It’s possible that you were so brainwashed as a child, that the Christ image is so deeply embedded in your sub-conscious; your hallucinations were so powerful that your enhanced mind actually changed your physical form to resemble the Christ you believe exists, or existed.”

There was a pause. Paul smiled. “That does not sound very fucking scientific.” It was all he think of saying.  He stood up, started pacing around the room. He circled behind Akira and began rubbing her shoulders. His cheeks were flushed and his eyes glinted with pleasure. She looked up, tilted her head back and returned the smile. In a moment, looking at her, he was engulfed in some deep inner exhilaration.

“Oh my God,” Lasseter interrupted, slamming his flask on the desk. “The implications of this are staggering!”

Jac stood as well. “Now you get it! On a strictly physiological level, the nanites achieved an observable momentum at enough nuclear locations to alter your actual form. It most likely effected the bonding.”

Now all three paced the room, arms flailing, voices raised.

“We need to conduct further studies to learn how the nanites effected your intelligence and no one else’s, but how they were capable of morphing your body. We need tissue specimens, electro-spin resonance tests, we need to pulse some cells through an energy range…my guess is the carbonyls, which are normally inactive, became free radicals, or at least free enough to create radicals allowing an orderly breakdown of your cells and altering the activity of your proteins…we need to establish a biochemical setting for this singular event. Or…” Jac paused to consider the implication of what he was about to say:

“What if this is not a singular event, Paul?  What if it’s not?”

Paul quickly responded. “What do you mean: “what if it’s not a singular event?” gasping in horror.

Forsyth didn’t miss a beat “Quickly,” he yelled, pointing at Lasetter: “How many volunteers tested the bed before you decided to bring it to market? How many were exposed to Paul’s invention, these nanites? I must know!”

“Must have been over a thousand,” Lasseter replied calmly, placing his flask on the desk. “Industry standard. The bed is already in mass production: there’s no way we can stop that train.”

He picked up his flask again, took a large swig, and handed it over to Akira.

More later.