The World's Greatest Spectacle

By Brandon Janis

Life can be beautiful and ugly; light and dark. For each of us, the pain and enslavement of darkness is unavoidable, but knowing how to find the light can lead to meaning, purpose, and freedom.

The World's Greatest Spectacle is a "once in a lifetime" novel, a riveting journey into reality and the human intelligence as you discover the freedom of truth. It's time for a new perspective.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Brandon Janis
• Release date: Oct 26, 2010

Brandon Janis

Regular guy who enjoys listening, thinking and writing; especially about freedom.

Book preview

The World’s Greatest Spectacle

A novel Novel

Brandon Janis

Published by TWGS, LLC at Smashwords

Copyright 2010 - Brandon Janis

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to www.truthlenses.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Front cover designed by Rene Munoz

Table of Contents

PART ONE: Reality

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 - Lens 1

Chapter 4 - Lens 2

Chapter 5 - Lens 3

Chapter 6 - Lens 4, 5

Chapter 7

Chapter 8 - Lens 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

Chapter 9 - Lens 11, 12

Chapter 10 - Lens 13

Chapter 11 - Lens 14, 15, 16, 17

Chapter 12

Chapter 13 - Lens 18, 20, 21, 22, 23

Chapter 14

Chapter 15 - Lens 19, 24

PART TWO: Discovery

Chapter 16 - New Beginnings

Chapter 17 - The Discovery Process

Chapter 18 - Animals or Humans

Chapter 19 - Relationships

Chapter 20 - Uncomplicate

Chapter 21 - Family

Chapter 22 - Friends

Chapter 23 - Faith or Doubt

Chapter 24 - The Journey

EPILOGUE

To Everyone --

who tries to understand reality

PREFACE

A dark room can suddenly become light with the simple flip of a switch.

As you turn these pages and discover the truth that turns on the light of freedom, you have the opportunity to discover the reality that the change you seek can happen at the speed of light.

PART ONE: Reality

Chapter 1

Cindee was up in the air. She wasn’t sure how high, or why, but she had the sense that somebody might be chasing her. What she was certain of is that she was trying to fly as fast as she could, even though she was moving in slow motion. Whenever she was flying, she would use the butterfly stroke with an emphatic dolphin kick. It probably had something do with her favorite race in high school being the 100 fly, and back then she was pretty good at it.

Suddenly, she felt her head snap backwards, and she momentarily lost any awareness of where she was or what was happening. It was Samantha, her fourth grade nemesis, sitting behind her and pulling her long hair while Miss Peterson had stepped out of the classroom. Sam, as everyone called her, was an appropriate nickname because you couldn’t really be sure if she was a boy or a girl. She had the face and hair of a girl, but she was stronger and could run faster than most of the boys. It was the intimidating in-your-face demeanor that frightened everyone.

The pain from her hair follicles was intense, and as she was frantically trying to figure out how to escape this nightmare she saw a…

The obnoxious sound of Brock’s alarm startled her, and Cindee realized that she had jumped in her sleep. She could feel that her pillow was a little moist by the left corner of her mouth; she hated it when she drooled in her sleep. As she rolled over to her right side a full moon shining through the half-draped window allowed her to vaguely see the outline of Brock’s hunched figure sitting on the edge of the bed. He’s probably trying to decide whether to stand up or fall back on his pillow. She knew he would stand up. It was 4:05 am Wednesday morning and he had to be at work by 5:00 am sharp. Being late was not optional.

She watched him slowly stand up and drag his feet to the bathroom and then quickly shut her eyes before he turned on the bathroom light. She pulled the covers over her head. I hate him. Every morning the bathroom light would blind her because he never shut the door. She had asked him numerous times to keep the door closed, but all she ever heard was some lame excuse about not being able to remember. She gave up a long time ago and just resorted to fuming about it under her covers. She listened like she did every morning to the shower, the electric razor, the mouthwash gargle and spit, the toilet flush, until finally he stopped making noise and turned out the light around 4:30.

She wished she could skip this next part of the morning, because the anger would linger for at least fifteen minutes before she could turn it off, and fall back to sleep, until her alarm woke her up again at 6:30. This morning she couldn’t even get back to sleep. The walls were closing in faster, she hated her life, but it was impossible to escape.

She had wanted a divorce for many years, but her enslavement to Dustin and Brinlee stood in the way. Dustin was her 12-year-old, self-absorbed, don’t-tell-me-what-to-do soon-to-be teenager, and in spite of his disagreeable presence in her life, as a mother she cared about him. She felt a sense of duty and responsibility to do the best she could to help him find his way in life, at least until he graduated from high school, and then she would let go. Brinlee was her cute one-and-a-half-year-old accident.

She hadn’t wanted any more children after Dustin, but even though Brock was mad about it, he didn’t force the issue. It was one of the few things she admitted to herself as being her own fault. A couple of years ago she had lost track of maintaining her birth control schedule and Brinlee was the consequence. She detested changing diapers, wiping snotty noses, listening to temper tantrums, being woken up in the middle of the night by crying, and the list never seemed to end.

What really gnawed at her was the decision to keep having sex with Brock. Years ago she had lost interest, but she had heard enough and read enough to conclude that if she didn’t meet his physical needs he would probably seek satisfaction elsewhere. The thought of him following other women with his eyes, going with his work buddies to strip bars, surfing the internet for porn, or the absolute unthinkable, having an affair, were much worse than the unpleasant reality of intimacy. She was always looking for any clue that he was unfaithful; and she was reasonably sure that he wasn’t.

To keep it this way, a couple of times a month she would extend an offer and he rarely declined. There was no enjoyment, communication, or bonding in the event, but at least it was always brief and seemed to accomplish the objective. She wasn’t sure it really made any sense. It was the only aspect of her life in which she felt she had some power and control over him and yet it was distasteful and always left her just as empty as she was before. Maybe it was just another form of bondage.

The real problem was that if years ago she had decided differently, Brinlee never would have come along. Now she couldn’t give divorce serious consideration. She still felt the pain from her own parents’ divorce when she was nine and keenly remembered how for years they would use her to try to hurt each other. When she married Brock she made a commitment to never put her children through what she had experienced and, maybe subconsciously, that’s why she didn’t want any more children after Dustin, just in case. Sometimes she wished Brock didn’t have a good relationship with her children, because then she could rationalize the divorce as necessary to shield them from the pain he might be causing them. Unfortunately, he wasn’t causing them any pain, just her.

Brock slowly reached over, hit the snooze button, and then turned the alarm off. Without thinking, he sat on the edge of the bed for a moment before standing up and walking to the bathroom. He must have slept well, because he couldn’t remember anything after seeing the numbers 11:43 on his alarm clock last night. His first conscious thought was to keep to his morning ritual of leaving the bathroom door open and being as noisy as possible without it appearing blatantly intentional. It really wasn’t fair that Cindee slept in every morning while he had to get up and go to work. And does she work? No. She used to after Dustin started going to school, but then quit her job after Brinlee was born. Occasionally she would actually make him dinner on the weekend but she never made him breakfast or lunch, and she spent most of her day reading romance novels, watching TV, and gossiping with her girlfriends. Maybe if she did more for Dustin and Brinlee he would shut the bathroom door.

The thought had crossed his mind more than once that she might want a divorce, but as separate as their lives were she never seemed to mind having sex. That was the telltale sign he had concluded. He hated her nagging, the animosity, the obsession with religion, and her unwillingness to take on responsibility. On the other hand he had never heard another guy describe a wife as anything better, so why look elsewhere? Besides, there was no reason good enough to rock Dustin and Brinlee’s world.

He knew a lot of guys who philandered without their wives knowing about it, but because they had such a ridiculous one-track mind when it came to the female body, he didn’t want to be controlled by that addiction. For this reason he tried to keep his eyes from wandering from woman to woman and his mind on other interests. He did wish there was some eye contact and maybe just a little positive communication with Cindee, but he figured since you can’t have everything, you might as well try to be satisfied with what you do have.

She finally heard the front door close so she rolled back over to her left side and tried to go back to sleep. Dustin would be getting up soon, and she would need to have a good breakfast ready for him before he headed off to school.

Her mind rattled. Last night had been a tipping point, just like hundreds of previous tipping points to nowhere. The loud music in Dustin’s room had been turned off, or at least it had probably moved to his headphones, and Brinlee had eventually succumbed to sleep. She had changed into something more comfortable and had hopped into bed after an exhausting day of taking care of Brinlee, arguing with Dustin over rules, and helping out for several hours at a church activity. She was enjoying the quiet while reading an intriguing romance novel, when about an hour later Brock strolled into the room.

She couldn’t remember exactly how the fight started. She may have abruptly said something simple and non-controversial like, Where were you? or What time did you get off work? and he took offense to it like he always did. Of course she did know what he was doing, even if she didn’t know where: drinking with his work buddies. Brock worked in the oil fields and hung out for a couple of hours with the guys almost every night after work. Oilfield hours were long but the pay was good. The kids never saw him during the week, and they looked forward to the time he spent with them on the weekends. Sometimes she was awake when he came home, but most of the time during the week she only saw him when his alarm went off and he left the bathroom door open. On weekends they clashed over the kids: she wanted a break from Brinlee, and he wanted to take Dustin hunting or four wheeling or boating instead of letting him go to church with her. His idea of playing with Brinlee and making her think he was her favorite person in the world did not qualify as assuming any responsibility to take care of her.

Sometimes she wondered if Brock was an alcoholic. If she thought about it carefully, he usually had alcohol on his breath whenever he came home, and she probably had just stopped noticing because it was so common. However, he never seemed to be so inebriated that he couldn’t function on a normal level. But then again, maybe it was those few beers that made him so stubborn, so inconsiderate, so ungrateful, so defensive, and so aloof in his own world.

It was his defensive answer that caused her to say smugly without looking up from her book, Nice to see you too. The exchange of words gradually became more and more hurtful, tones were laced with animosity, and the volume was a rapid crescendo. Old wounds were reopened; new wounds were cut, and when the pain was too unbearable to take anymore, she had buried herself in the covers and sobbed herself to sleep. Brock ignored her when she cried.

No matter how hard she tried to shut her mind off and go back to sleep, the pain she was reliving from the night before wouldn’t subside, and she curled up in a ball and began crying again, this time inconsolably. What made it even worse was that she didn’t feel there was anyone in her life that really understood and could help her.

As time gradually exhausted her emotions, she knew sleep was not going to mercifully give her an escape, so she faced the hell and got out of bed, determined that later in the day she was going to try to open up and share a few realities with Rachel. She was desperate for any relief. She knew Rachel was dealing with a physically abusive husband and hoped she might have some coping skills to share.

Chapter 2

Brock closed the door to his parked truck and headed for the office doors. The fight the night before with Cindee had been annoying but he had learned long ago not to get trapped in her emotions, because once inside it was very difficult to get out. At times he really did feel sorry for her and wished that he could help her, only helping her was about as likely as his paycheck miraculously having a few extra zeros on it. Did he feel some pain and loneliness in the relationship? Yes, but he had learned to suppress it and to seek companionship elsewhere by hanging out at the bar with the guys from work. He had no idea how rocked his world was about to be on the other side of those familiar office doors.

After clocking in, he headed for the supervisors’ table in the break room. He could immediately tell from the expression on Kenny’s face that something was up.

Corporate’s here, Kenny said.

And…

And we really don’t know what’s going on.

"What do you know?"

Carlos piped in, speculating, They’re scheduling everybody on our crew to meet privately with some HR chick from corporate.

That’s a new one. Are we headed out to the field?

Not today. They’ve got another crew covering for us. I guess they want everybody available here in the yard to talk to whenever they want, Kenny continued the speculation.

Travis walked by the table, pulled a chair over from an adjacent table, and, sitting down in the chair as if he were lying on a 40-degree hill, said, Wuz up, ladies?

Travis was the fifth chain link in the gang and the only one of color. Kenny was the accepted leader. Carlos was the goofball. Gavin was wild and crazy. Brock was the cool hand. Travis was the politician. He wasn’t a supervisor like the other four because he only had a year and a half with the company, but that didn’t limit his ability to bond with the group. If conversation ever led to politics Travis became the center of the dialogue. He was constantly forwarding emails with political innuendos, reading some book, or commenting on the news. Considering his fascination with history and current politics, he was an unlikely member of the oil field community, but one entrepreneurial venture after another had failed to produce any meaningful fruit, so he had settled into a reliable job that provided well for his family. He wasn’t a regular drinking partner because he enjoyed the companionship of his wife and when it came to valuing and respecting woman, his perspective was exceptionally healthy. On the other hand, Kenny loathed his ex-wife 24/7; Carlos was consistently strategizing on how to get out of his third marriage without any financial obligation; Gavin could only think of women as a one-night stand, and Brock was conflicted. Travis’s contribution to the group was a unique perspective that the others seemed to appreciate.

The only lady at this table might find out sometime today, Brock responded to Travis with a grin on his face. Has anybody heard from Gavin?

Brock heard a disjointed No, Nope, and Nah.

- - - - -

Gavin had barely opened the door to his truck when he got the phone call at 4:43 am.

Is zis Gaveen? The G was pronounced hard and guttural.

Gavin’s heart skipped a beat. Yuri was the HR Manager of their camp, and he worked 8 to 5, not 5 in the morning.

Sorry I bother you zis morning.

Okay…, Gavin’s voice wandered off momentarily before deciding he probably didn’t care about proper protocol. Don’t be sorry then. We can talk some other time.

Don’t give me crrap Gaveen, Yuri’s tone was suddenly icy. I haff my job, and I do it.

Whatever. Gavin was now absolutely certain he didn’t care about protocol. He considered Yuri a brown-nosing putz who should have stayed in his own country instead of transferring inside of the company to this one. Yuri tried to act tough, but he really was just a puppet wrapped up in a bunch of bureaucratic red tape. This #%^$ could be ^&$%*@ fun. That &%# ^% @ ^$&*% is a $*&^%&#. He’s &^$%#@* got nothing on me.

Yuri responded in his usual monotone voice. You vill be on administrative leaff today.

Yeah, right, Gavin reacted with confidence and sarcasm in his voice even as he tried to adjust to the reality of what might be happening.

Yuri had waited months to enjoy the power of this moment as he