Nacoma

Summary/Moral:  devoting free-time to education, philosophy, hiking, etc.

 

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The heart of Arabia, Djinn, and strange lights in the sky; …these were the events in which I met the one who said his name was Nacoma, a medical corpsman (colloquially, if you ask most Marines, just a ‘doc’) attached to my infantry battalion during my first combat deployment with them.  Doc, as we all called him (and as all enlistedmen trained and assigned as our equivalent of the Army’s medics), turned out to be a helper and healer in so many more ways than just how he’d been taught by his A-school and the medical-industrial complex propaganda plaguing all the ‘developed’ countries at this time; he knew how to read and fine-tune our minds/souls, not just patch up our bodies after firefights.  This Doc was a cut above the rest, pun not intended.

Doc introduced me to the first Masons and Illuminati I’d ever met.  This happened in places I could not have expected; hangouts in shipping-container rows used in place of barracks, and in chow halls and around Dominoes hangouts.  Some of them found it amusing that I thought I should be respectfully quiet/hushed when discussing their membership in those organizations, and I did my best to make sense of their attitudes, vibes, and lack of any skills I would think someone in an organization named after stone-working would/should/must have.  (I was later advised not to bother trying to join any such organization, as it would result in me having my time wasted by them spying on me all the time, and that put some of my concerns to rest; at least that bit of advice was sound.)

He also kept my spirits up during the relentless hazing from the moronic brutes starting cliques within my battalion; Doc was always available to hang out like a brother or father-figure, and was always cheery, informative, and ‘on my side’.  He didn’t seem associated in any way with the fools who’d ‘slipped through the cracks’, becoming the bad Marines.  That dissociation or detachment alone was enough to take the edge off for me, so our hangouts continued, and I was able to find things to look forward to from day to day.

Then he taught me how to ‘skate’ (which is slang for getting away with not doing all the busywork the jerks try to make everyone do), and how to be okay with that, saving me from my foolish burning desire to remain a polarized patriot.  Skating didn’t make sense to me at first, but then I noticed myself and all the other good Marines being targeted and intentionally worn out by the bad ones, and skating became a very logical and even necessary ritual, if not a lifestyle all its own.  We became ‘skate masters’ (like Jedi masters, but the more relaxed and meditative kind).

When it came to music, Doc loved the artist Prince.  He also regarded Yoda from Star Wars very highly.  Why those two?  Because they were, no matter their short stature (comparable to his), amazing men, role models, teachers, etc.  Yoda was the one who kept Luke from being turned by ‘the dark side’ (which he thought he was facilitating for me), and Prince might have been the shortest male artist of all time… but he pulled more pussy than most of the others combined.  It would take me more than a full decade to embrace my own size, relative that of the overgrown giants and thugs, but I couldn’t help but notice how much hotter the girls trying to get with me always were; the badguys always seemed to end up with the ugliest ones; size clearly wasn’t everything, but god-like confidence was… especially when summoned and focus constantly by that size difference/issue.

Giving me tons of interesting ‘alternative’ books to read as my nightly homework assignments, I was kept busy and focused on learning (instead of ‘stewing’/fuming/venting), even when he wasn’t around.  Doc was sometimes attached to other squads, or busy in our remote military base’s version of a field hospital, and he knew that those were times I should be effectively buried in a stack of reading material.  He was right, and it started paying off; no matter what I was put through by the bad Marines (and that was a lot), I grew more and more interested only in the curious reports and claims I’d been finding in all those books I might never have found or even looked for otherwise, all else in my life slipping away.

How clearly I remember that one stroll we took between the sections of our desert base way out there… when he told me to think of my emotions as being in jars on a shelf in the back of my head; they were there, not repressed, but contained and organized, keeping them where they should be, with me in charge of them, not the other way around.  I thought about this for a while, finding it to resonate very well with me.  I’ve applied and built upon it ever since, such as by considering now that everything might do well to be thought of that way; what if all the people, not just all my emotions, and all their technology and gods and worlds and laws, you name it, were locked away in magical jars somewhere in the recesses of my mind, activated only when I chose for them to be, showing up in my life only when and how I wanted and needed them to?  Could all of reality be controlled appropriately in that/this way, not just my own energies?  I think so.

One afternoon while we were back in the States between deployments, he let me sneak into his room in another barracks –and decided to continue allowing this, even when he wasn’t there; it was so I’d always have a place to hide where no (none of the bad) higher-ups could find me; so I’d be able to work on my secret-society and dream-house/community designs even in their crude infancy.  All that ‘homework’ he’d had me do… was now transforming into me creating things based on all of having become a part of me.  Perhaps this was his ongoing psychological evaluation of me, with his gradual separation back out of my life being a key part of it.

On another afternoon, he introduced me to his wife, and opened up to me about the problems of incompatibility they had with each other.  It was so raw/real; I could plainly see/feel it.  I could hear the struggle/pain in his voice; he was frustrated by her, and they clearly were not a good match.  Had he shown me this as a clever and indirect warning, living by example so as to soften the blows I would experience once out of the service and trying similar relationships on/of my own?  I think so.  (Or maybe, at least, being exposed to such an incompatible coupling firsthand partially triggered me manifesting more of that, further driving the point home; one could not survive well a typical modern human relationship, especially when one had a greater purpose / higher calling.)

Then there was that night when he took me to the first night-club I’d ever been to –and how funny it had been to go there in McKay’s open-topped Jeep that chilly night, I loving the cold wind, and Doc’s face puffing up from it before we arrived –which he feared would prevent him from being able to convince the bouncers to let us in as photographers.  We arrived after driving for an hour through the desert night.  Doc climbed out of the vehicle very upset, and I’d never seen him so.  It kind of alarmed me, and I hoped I hadn’t lost him as a friend.  (This was good, though, as it has reminded me ever since to pay careful attention to the biological needs of others, not trying to make anyone else as tough as I was forced to become.)

Another night, we had our first gothed-out downtown stroll experience, my battalion friend, Trevor, there with us.  We looked like extras out of a Marilyn Manson concert or music-video.  One bald asshole in a suburban got mad that we looked like that, and honked at us as we walked in front of his vehicle on the crosswalk, but other than that… the night went very smoothly, and I began to enjoy dressing up like that, looking like the rock-star I would later (sometimes on stage, when the mood/theme/performances called for it) become.

Of all the people I met during my military service, Nacoma was the one who took me under his wing and introduced me to a whole new library worth of alternative-theory/science/history books.  He was the one who behaved more like a selfless parent, guide, and guardian than all the rest.  He was my doctor in so many ways.

He was a fellow man from beyond (both of us having mysterious and otherworldly natures and origins), as well as a talented and experienced infiltrator (which I also later became, thanks to his formative work with me back at the turn of the millennium).  Claiming to be from another (and now lost) world, he helped me get used to the idea of meeting and hanging out with people not only from the other side of the planet, but the other side of the solar system… and beyond.  (This reminds me now of Daniel, my high-school friend who claimed to’ve battled at my side in another dimension, not just on another world.)  Who knows if those things were true?  What I do know is that they helped groom me for civil interactions, and sane/calm reactions, for whenever they start to either come true… or happen again.

Advised to look for more vampires (I having already met a few who claimed to be such a thing), this time in New Orleans’ Armstrong Park the night before and during Halloween, I set off on trips not merely to help fight and end wars, or to sight-see as a simple tourist, but to make contact with the legendary people and ancients.  My trips were now becoming expeditions and diplomatic missions.  I would meet actual witches and much more because of them/this; Doc had really made me bold –and even more-so than the Marine Corps (and Corps of Cadets) had.

He broke contact when I’d messaged him with great news about my progress around the world since he and I had last spoken and hung out –the strangest of negative responses from him, completely out of character; “I can’t be associated with a communist.”  I’d never been a communist, and he knew that, so I have suspected it wasn’t him sending that message, his account perhaps hacked by scummy feds (more of the bad Marines, now employed elsewhere?), he either snatched up by them for telling me so much, or (and I hope this latter possibility is the case) he having gone back off-world, knowing I was awakened enough to not need his help directly here anymore.  I haven’t heard from him since.  Though put off by that online comment that seemed to come from his profile, I wish him well.

Now that I think about it, that one night in Iraq where he’d mentioned to me the idea that the entire sky was just one big dome, the stars put up there from a projector, might have been a sly attempt by a flat-Earth-er to get me to think the planet was not a spheroid.  Why would he have done that?, I wonder.  Could it have been in hopes of getting me to block myself from concluding anyone up/out there was possible… and able to contacted?  (Was it a secret way of trying to stop me from reuniting with those long-ago separated from my past-life self, who had found their way to other worlds?  Was it him trying to shield those people and worlds out there… from my inevitable full re-unlocking of my reality-rearranging/fixing mind/will-powers?  Maybe he knew I would, at this point more than a decade later, rediscover the tales of those ancient and timeless lovers and family members, our synergy skyrocketing back to normal at this point, resulting in all the distance and hells between us… practically evaporating in the presence of our unstoppable wills; nothing can stop us from reconnecting like we once were.)

So I’d lost contact with him years later, but only after he’d gotten me on a very stable and self-enriching track, my head full of so many great new ideas and ways of thinking/perceiving.  I still had my anger, but it was now a tool I chose when and how to access.  I can never thank him enough for that; he helped me complete what my instincts during middle- and high-school had started, which is using my upset energies to get my body into better shape… and keep it that way, always turning the bullshit the enemies did… for/into something good.

“When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”; I was ready when I made it to Camp Doghouse, Al Asad, Iraq, and asked about electrical manuals that one night.  “When the student is REALLY ready, the teacher will DISappear.”, …and he did.  Thanks, Doc; you performed your job in my life, at that most pivotal of moments, perfectly.  My hat is off to you, sir.

 

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Quick Bio:

So much in the Bible was left to our imagination.  What were the ancient characters really like?  This section of each of our Biblor’an pages helps us more accurately picture our own.

• Given Name:  Nacoma Hayden
• Birthplace/Hometown:  ?
• DOB:  ?
• Hair/Eyes:  brown / brown
• Height/Weight:  ~5’5″ / ~150 lbs.
• Race/Nationality:  ? / American?
• Distinguishing Features:  intense eyes/gaze at times, very confident and direct
• Common Attire:  normal USMC uniforms, and occasionally fashionable attire for off-base events
• Voice/Personality:  tenor, sometimes raised/loud / directing, engaging, initiating
• Education/Career:  ? / military
• Diet/Health:  ?
• Preferences/Mannerisms:  advising/leading / loud laugh
• Relatives/Descendants:  ex-wife, daughter

Nacoma came from Louisiana, and said he before that had come from a now-destroyed world.  He was the first of many who would later confide in me (or, at least, claim) that; connections with work on and/or from other planets –and other (humanoid) races.  I was upset with his stepping back out of my life for a time, but it all worked out, and now I understand more of why.  He was a great beacon to me during my formative time in the American military, and I will always remember him as a dear friend and semi-savior for that.  I think, more than anything, he showed me that people from faraway places, even when they make some mistakes and give into the more primitive emotions/thinking… are still treasure-troves of healing and information; they can help unlock us (much more of our potential/levels), if only we discern how best to apply their suggestions.

 

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Jokes:

• TBA

 

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Quotes:

• “No; if you live by the sword, you will die by the sword!”
• “That’s because I’m better than Yoda!”

 

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Terms Coined:

• TBA

 

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Major Influence on Inisfree:

history beyond Earth, and having my Own fraternity/sorority; before Nacoma’s guidance and literary recommendations (or, as he called them, ‘homework assignments’ during my first deployment), I had little idea of the goings-on off-world and pre-humanity, and the precursors to A.D.O. and Inisfree’s Star Fleet (such as the all-female assassins corps I was dreaming up and using the Black Widow spider as a logo or mascot for) didn’t even exist as flights of fancy –*Nacoma’s influence on my life steered me toward all those amazing revelations and developments, sparing me from wasting my time with re-enlistments as a basic or Reconnaissance Marine.

 

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Doc:

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The Casino:

This colorfully-lit building came into view during my first trip into the Morongo Basin/Valley.  It stood as a lone skyscraper out there, and had a club built into its ground-level floor.  Rotating fire-spouts atop black rectangular-prism pillars bordered the innermost dance-platform at the center of its courtyard-like three-story sanctuary, if you can call the room that, multiple indoor wrap-around balconies lined with railings and adorned with tables in the shadows.

You can find some images and info about the dance/night-club we got into there here and here.

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Hikes into the Desert:

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