•L.1.F.3.•MeMe•E-Zine•

[71]. Prince Hall: Unsung Hero

The African Lodge was so popular and Prince Hall was such an excellent leader that the Grand Lodge of England made him a Provincial Grand Master on January 27, 1791. As part of Prince Hall's initiation into the mantle of Grand Master, he was shown the ancient writings in which his name and station were some of the only things that could be accurately translated to date. It is commonly said that, upon viewing the first set of books, Prince Hall stared at the pages and pages of indecipherable ideograms and incomprehensible hieroglyphics for many silent minutes before exclaiming in the presence of the greatest British Free Masons of the day...

"I can read them. I can read them all!" And so fell into the hands of Black Free Masonry, the last remaining collection of Mayan Codices, preserved from destruction by the highly superstitious Spanish Church, in particular Bishop Diego de Landa in July of 1562, over 200 years past. Diego de Landa had written of these hated pagan writings: "We found a large number of books in these characters and, as they contained nothing in which were not to be seen as superstition and lies of the devil, we burned them all, which they (the Maya) regretted to an amazing degree, and which caused them much affliction." Such codices were primary written records of Maya civilization, together with the many inscriptions on stone monuments and stelae that survived. Even then, the British Government, being well versed in the arts of espionage, managed to secret away a large number of the books, stelaes and scrolls, replacing the priceless cataloguing of ancient records with cleverly disguised replicas to be sacrificed in the fiery ignorance of Spanish Inquisition...

It was there-in that Prince Hall would translate and discover the true nature of the 13 Mayan Gods of the Underworld, their role in the next Era of Humanity come December 21st, 2012 and how his family line was somehow integral in the process of it all. It was Prince Hall who rediscovered the names and numbers of the 13 Thundredogs...

-!!PPP!!

The railroad tracks meander curvaceously through the wide steel and lumber centered passage; the over cast evening skies above grumble with precipitous portent beyond the thick green canopy of the Magnolia Wooden umbrella tree cover overhead. The steel of the rails glistens remarkably with the high burnished glow of iron freshly laid, a midnight rain tinkling through the fat, jade juxtapositions of rubbery leaves above; the scene scintillating in a steady sparkle of rain drenched moonlight, setting everything shuddering with a hard, argent lighting. The blackened wood of the ties still sport the occasional sprout of bright yellow green growth in places; shoots spawning from the brand newly shaped oaken slabs, the sprigs yellowing beneath the weight of inevitable expiration. A trio of baby rabbits trip-skips across the curving locomotive highway, abandoned these many decades yet enigmatically clean, almost as if the natural tunnel of the encroaching forest of magnolia trees; the slowly bowing vista of brand new railroad tracks seems mysteriously... maintained...

A quintet of deer leap from within the twisting tangle of magnolia branches entwined in endless embraces of tens of hundreds of magnolia trees; the family of five Bambi's bound along the corridor of magnolia roots and tangled branches; the flicker of their bright white tails leaving ivory hued trailers as they disappear beyond the bend, bouncing gracefully, a dance through the drizzle of rain. The Feng Shui of the scene pleases observation, impeccable in its scenic lay before and beyond; a fat black snake slithers out of the emerald overgrowth, across the silvery rails and back into the ever-present greenery ahead. The red birds darting through the canopy above head, dozens of scarlet bolts of shiny flashing off the ubiquitous, leaving crimson trailers of passage amongst ubiquitous  foliage of Magnolia Woods...

And then the tracks end and the impinging trees fall away. Beyond is the muddy pit of the Lake Strange sinkhole; a three and fourteen tenths acres wide depression in the swampy earth; the ruins of the Strange Falls Zoetrope lay hunkered together, collapsed into the cavity of a subterranean system of caves. The parking lot is a sloping bowl of tarmac, the crumbled remains of the ebony asphalt draining away the torrents of rain pounding down from the cloudless midnight sky. The rusted hulks of several abandoned vehicles lay scattered along the peripheries of the sluicing tons of precipitation easily draining into depths beneath the parking lot; the decade old husks virtually melted into the hard concrete, oxidized into the crystal encrusted crackle of crumbled tarmac. The entire seven acre complex of movie theater parking and multimillion dollar 3D movie theatre multiplex had been built atop a system of caves; part of the mysterious Crystal Caverns of Strange Fall's, NC, 01313...

The massive thirteen studio movie theatre multiplex lay shimmering beneath the downpour, the glass, steel and concrete colossus curiously crowded collectively in the rain across the downward way; rain falling from a clear midnight sky dumps into the trackless bowl of black hard top; cruelly shriven by the yards and yards of crystal shards jabbed haphazard throughout the slick, sloping vista. Rivers of down pour rush precariously underfoot across the car studded acres of crystal punched tarmac; the!!PPP!! seems oddly intact despite its curiously crumpled state, as if the complex of buildings had purposely gathered together at the perigee of the depression into which they'd fallen asunder 13 years past; safety in numbers at the bottom of the sink hole, where once, the several hundred thousands of square footage had spread across the park way, now; the glass, plastic and steel fronting layered beneath seven crystal crusted concrete towers stood proud and tall, at complete odds with the depressed state of the dreary surroundings. A blast of thunder out of the star lit sky, the rain continues, unabated; yet the rush of water falling into the depths beneath, never reaches the !!SBS!!. A baker's dozen yards from the wetly lit front doors, the path is clear, dry of the rushing undertow elsewhere; the neon green reflection on the wet tarmac there flashing "!!PPP!!F3N!!SBS!!" in scrolling successions of ...

It's dark and it's miserable but there's someone down there, the sense of presence as palpable as the persistent pounding of the cloudless raining aloft. The sign flashes sporadic lime luminosity, !!PPP!! What is that?!!SBS!! What does it mean? Why does this seem to tug at something that has always been known yet ever existed on the very fringes of realization; the taste of sound; The sight of scent. !!F3N!! What is that? What number is the color blue? What is the shape of Tuesday? What tastes like the color green? Big, green, flashing!!SBS!!PPP!! F3N!! Something subliminal is being transmitted, this is known yet, for the life of it, there is no recalling exactly... What was that? This is only a!!T3ST!!? Abruptly, the rains stop and the full moons light spirals forth as if surfacing from the oceanic night skies aloft. The curious gurgle slurping of the abruptly ended downpour draining into the depths beneath with sighing and groans sounding disturbingly alive; the crumbled wreck of the abandoned movie multiplex backlit beneath the lonely lime luminousness lazily lighting!!PPP!!F3N!!SBS!! Across the crystal concentrated car lots coal colored concrete acreage.

Just off the rail road tracks, on the western shore of Lake Strange, in Strange Falls, NC, 01313...