The Dream

A -bit of a- Science Fiction story on the birth of the Cakra Tempometer.

by T.H.E. Servant



For the millionth time I close the door behind me. Outside there is the great emptiness that I must fill. That is where the people are whom I have to meet. I ride my bicycle, because a car is not needed. I am riding, completely used to the madness of brutal, shining and much too expensive cars, with great indifference into the fresh dutch cold. Marvelous weather, no cockroaches, no sweating or tropical fever. It is the Paradise of Holland. Freedom, wind ahead, away with all philosophical darkness of sitting home too much. My bike is old, but honestly bought from the Salvation Army. Pure love, not stolen like so many bikes during college days. The white-bicycle-plan, free white bikes for every one, wouldn't work. There are always bicycles everywhere. Why can't you just ride away on them if you need one? I always hated possessiveness, but now I am mature. And I still don't agree. But I am strong, I am indifferent about it. I don't cry anymore, except a tear when television is too bright or the wind blowing too sensitive in my eyes. I'm riding home, my real home, where my mother lives. My father died. I really couldn't help. He was simply too old and his veins collapsed. I didn't feel guilty as I did before when he had had a stroke but recovered from it. Now it had simply been his time. I managed to control my tears. Time was ripe.

Before the train station I chain my bike to a pole as usual, because I know the failure of the white-bike-plan. A sturdy chain so as to offer no opportunity to the thief. I am repentant and a teacher. I just chain my bike. That is enough. I buy myself a train-ticket. Thoughts are flashing in between the different ticket-windows and the ticket-machine. What is more important? A nice lady, a sober gentleman, queue up, or tampering with a machine, creditcard doesn't work, no small money, all these buttons ... I just do something and forget why. I have always a reason or a system. The ticket is always getting more expensive, but inflation is nil, so the prime-minister assures. So what. In the train no agression, the war is over. You never know how the war looks like. The conductor can be angry, or my co-travelers, or myself. But: nothing wrong. I have to take heed, I passed my little station more often in a dreamy state. Either the case. I'm pretty clear. I'm doing good. My body strong and fresh, my heart at the right place. A bunch of flowers for mom. A nice day. Nothing's wrong.

'Hello, fine you're there.' My mother's crown-prince is back home again. By chance not the scapegoat of the family. More like the Jesus Christ of the family. The nasty things I would care after; the lunacy, the way, the penance.

'My God, are you still breakfasting?', I ask without interest. My brother and my sister in law, pregnant and being just the way they are, are sitting next to my mother at the breakfast-table.

'You're looking fine', says the old bike on which I learnt the art of hugging. I had put on my neat suit. Since my father passed on no shortage of neckties anymore. And I feel good in it. That doggisch blue-jeans-business with old sweaters is something more suitable for the private sphere and the pub from which you return stinking like an ashtray anyway. My mother embraces me like I'm her only lover and I, a bit backing off, but not really, bend over to welcome her grace. If she wouldn't be my mother, I'd be pleased to have her younger as my wife. But such a life I don't have. What to do with woman in a world that looks more like a maze for psychopaths than a meeting place for hard-working souls? My brother of course, believes in the latter. He happens to be seventeen years younger, to that being full of confidence about the blessing of his sexual potency. As the youngest brother always having been run after to make him stay loyal to his first love not denying God, his life seems to run a normal course: properly married, a job on a high-school and a child coming.

'Any idea how you'll name your child?' And before my sister in law can formulate an answer, the complete gathering falls into a confusion of speculations and ideas. Paul, Lodewijk, Ad; those would be strong names. Girl-names are not mentioned.

'Fortune-telling proposed by all that it would become a girl', at last she knows to answer. Somewhat disappointed normal quiet returns in to the gathering.

'When the new body of our father is in your belly - we'll never know for sure - why then a girl?' I asked the question implicitly, but still got an answer.

'I've an appetite for ginger lately', said the rounding mother. My father was a great lover of ginger who preferred to get ginger and nuts for his birthday.

Me laughing, 'Beautiful, perfectly right proof of the truth of The Book'. But saying I could not so. I am not there to preach. I'm there to dream until there's nothing but that dream. 'My father a girl?', I kept laughing.

'Maybe he was too much of a guy in his life and now he is forced to undergo some emancipation' my mother proposed.

'Acceptable' was the judgment, but still he could actually be a man again. On the echo nothing could be seen between the little legs, but that could come later. Other subject.

'How are the dreams, are they still deceit or are they becoming reality by now?' My brother could ask the question somewhat challenging, being proud of his swollen love in the feminine. I, of course, could not show him my manly opposite. The monkey learnt to speak, thus this Neanderthaler discussed his amazing mace in stead of showing it. Of course I still wanted to change the world, of course I still believe in my self. After years of hard work, seeking, praying and fearing, I had arrived at the conclusion that a new time was feasible, attainable and enjoyable. I simply had taken the line of the idea that the misery of modern time was modern time itself. Literal. It is mean, zoned, and summered manipulated political timecontrol that took away mankind's clear vision of God. Mankind was split in it's awareness of time and space and had with that messed up the fundamental organization of its brain. Literally does one side of the brain not really know what it's got to do with the other hemisphere. Identitycrisis, estrangement of man and woman and the whole of the modern kit and caboodle of opposites following. Big Brother had found the solution: the medieval clock and the old-roman calender, had to be complemented and with that the world would be liberated from its modernistic disgrace.

Post-modern time was to look like a total-design of free choice in which each could live his own way, his own order, time and rhythm without getting caught in a dictature of the-way-it-should-be. Yet the story hadn't come across to my brother like that.

'what are you doing?' was his sober question. And that's what it's about in fact. What was, right now, the reality of my world-dream? Did I really think to have the world as I would like it and better it? And indeed, why not? Is modernization something odd? Isn't it very normal to do your best and get a grip on oldfashioned business? No I was not a miser and a pessimist. But a philosopher and politician I was either. I loved music.

'I'm taking guitar-lessons again' Robert managed to express.

'Peter, you still love playing guitar too, don't you? Or have you given up?'. I had learned my brother to play the guitar and he had followed me in the good example to blend intellect and emotion that way. It had always been my amorousness and now it was his amorousness. I enthused.

'You can show your guitar-teacher the pieces I wrote for the Sire Eight-people.'

'They are far too difficult', he protested.

'There are some very easy ones among them', I said. I was always convinced that culture and religion belong to the same bush of feathers and should not be separated.

'I'll see', Robert said, and with that it was said. More family visited my mother. It was mothers' day. Big Brother had some more smaller brothers. An other one, Hendrick, was a physician with a healthy sympathy against allopathic medicine in the form of the subtle poisoning named homeopathy. I never understood how he could afford a wife, kids, a car and a big house with it, but he had a gift for politics. Combining the advantages of medical power and status with a honest obedience to the laws of his big brother: "Nerd, you'll not be such a betraying prick as Richard Nixon and company, Vietnam, you-know". Well - what did he know. He was simply intelligent. And because I never told him directly not to be such a nerd, he wasn't one. There was a fourth brother, Fritz, who wanted to join the police, but quickly revised his plan when our socialistic elder sister began calling names as dumbo and cudgel with an awkward sour chilling face without really saying something. That was all in the past. Fritz had taken up the trade of artistic freedom with a Here-and-Now philosophy of healthy abstaining in love for the child-like artist-soul. I wanted to go to the academy of arts myself, but had on my fathers advice followed his footsteps and gotten into trouble. Hendrick had divorced and remarried, just like my elder sister Catherine (also called cat), and the second also elder sister Kate had married an Indian and had,in the beginning, rather preferred not to show her self ever again. That sunday, I, Robert and Hendrick were present without missing our deceased father. That we experienced if we were alone with our mother. Now we had to alter our fathers wisdom into confidence in our selves. He was a developmental 'child'-psychologist and I became a clinical psychologist/psychotherapist with mixed (yoga-)feelings. In fact I hated all that nagging and whining and rather lusted about artistic matters as music and drawing. But that love snowed under. I didn't play guitar anymore and drawing I left years before to my ex Marie with whom I lived for seven years, but had to leave to give way to her and my own ambitions. What was left over was my ambition to get a grip on the world and really improve it. What was left was my unwillingness to leave the world to it's own devices. This is my planet, my life, my Holland, Europe and World and I just had to contribute of my own in the very normal modernization of the out-dated, corrupt and treacherous mess.

'How do you want to tackle it' Hendrick said, while he pushed away his little daughter of four crawling all over him.

'What do you think you can improve to that 'beautiful' system of ours? First we have to get things straight, don't you think? Thus, Big Brother-who-learned-so-much, what is thy judgment?'.

'Well, there are a couple of problems that need to be recognized as such first. The good old times we know as harmonic and as being not so tightly settled by clocks as well as by people, which isn't directly ideal either. So, I can't propose a tight settling of what authority ever. We're looking for harmony, and that without putting anyone in front. The system of gregorian standardtime doesn't know any harmony: the tight regularity of the week walks right trough the division of the year, a certain day never being the same date as a consequence. This is confusing. The goal is harmony and not the turning against one other of two divisions with obscurity. Secondly the succession of month's is unclear: then we have thirty days, then we have 31 or 28. That also is lacking logic and harmony. Arbitrariness cannot be a common practice without favoring injustice. Above that there is also disparity between the division of the day in twenty-four hours and the division of the year. Twelve days and twelve months do give a certain likeness, but further division in sixty (minutes) is nowhere to be found in the division of the year or day. Next to that we have different dates for the shortest day, Christmas and New-years-eve in fact being the same celebration of new year. General problem, especially of the clock, is the lack of accordance with nature because of which people get confused in a so-called nature-nurture or culture-nature-conflict. This is how the problem looks like if you get it straight. There has been a philosopher who said that real time is something subjective which cannot be measured, but that you don't have to take seriously. We know that the length of day varies and that the celestial sky is shifting one sign in roughly two-thousand years.'

'So it's a cozy illogical mess,' Hendrick suggested.

'That you can say if you consider the fact that Napoleon and Hitler were the greatest distributors of respectively mean time and zone-time - that the old roman order did not just kill Jesus, but in fact also with Hitler the complete of the Jewish people, is still generally considered the problem and shame of the twentiest century'.

'But', Hendrick said, 'that is a causal connection which not everybody will recognize as being true'.

'It's just like reincarnating, you're not sure of it, and you're not supposed to be either, but you better take it into account to belong to the possible. I know, dear Hendrick, that you have a talent for politics, but if you just regard it outside of the political as a mission to built a system as harmonious as possible, you'll admit that the old situation is fit for improvement'.

'That is true, but we have, to speak with pa, a problem that people won't give up their old habits so easily and that a plea for repressing something old for something new usually runs into passion and conflict whereby political opposition will cause irreparable damage to the good cause of a reform.'

'That is a very intelligent remark, dear brother, and what's more the problem: people are really sensitive to who is saying such a thing, because to pray to that guy nobody ever will want to.'

'Hmm' Hendrick said, 'But we'll not cancel the endeavor because of that, will we?'

'No, of course not', I said looking up as if I was watching atop the bookcase.

'I really properly looked in old books searching for existing alternatives who could eventually be brought together with modern applications and at that I succeeded. There has been a proposal of reform before, but that did not work out because only the calendar would be fixed on 52 weeks and one extra special new-years-day. That failed because it didn't form an essential solution for the complete problem of time as I pointed out. Date and day would match, but how to divide 52 weeks over twelve month's, and how would the clock look like then? That went into the dustbin. But in Vedic literature I received from the Sire-community I red about a division in 24 15-day periods, six seasons and 24 of our well-known hours in the day. That is more inspiring.'

'O.K., Hendrick said, it's getting too much for me at the moment and the way you say it it seems to be getting quite complex too, what is the fun of it. The way you pose it it'll be a big effort, but I don't see the dream, what kind of beautiful world I should imagine to that?'

Somewhat hilarious I knew a good answer, although not properly thought over and maybe even a bit dangerous.'Well, the consequence is that we will be so harmonious and one with time that we can put this time-awareness into four computers, put them on one round table, attach the chairs to it's legs so that four timetravelers can fly away with the first flying saucer of humanity to another planet. Don't you understand that we're dealing with a timemachine that is reflecting our intelligence and dreams; that it is about the finest of scientific progress and the glory of mankind in respect of nature? Don't you understand that it means the end of all confusion about time and its powercomplexes ?. We can't forever spin like moth's around a lamp trough the solar system in garbagecans full of fossil fuel!?'

'Well, well' Hendrick said with his eyes popping.

'I didn't get it like that yet. Just take it easy mister spacerace.'

Me, laughing:'Of course not, of course, I don't want to get into the cosmos at all, but isn't it a nice hobby to keep all these unemployed soldiers busy with when the planet is under control again as for populationgrowth, the environmental issue and such? What I want is to have Humanity in full command of its mental faculties relating to nature again and that we're at the one hand not afraid and at the other not hatefully trying to escape from mother nature's wildness and fall down in cultural cramps, lunacy and unjust arbitrariness'

'Yes that kind of chaos-theory, I don't believe either. The order appearing from the chaos, that's what it's all about, of course.'

'Daddy, look', said little Anneke and interrupted her father in his deep considerations confronting him with a pink rabbit with little green eyes.

'Do you want to drink something' Liesbeth, Roberts wife, asked, and the conversation didn't return after Hendrick said:

'You know what, put that design on a floppy for me, so that I can put it on Internet and see what it is worth to the global community'. Communicating to him that I would think about it, I ordered a Malt-beer and went back again to my own apartment as the family started playing Rummy-cup with grandma. Grandma was busy enough.


It was the spring of 1997, the sun shining beautifully and the tulips had finished blooming. The beech was running out with lovely fresh new leaves and the birds were chirping in the thrush-tree of the neighbors. Apart from that my garden was only stinking of chinese food now and then with me getting crazy sometimes of the big black Bouviers of the neighbors who dissatisfied barked loudly every time at each innocent passer-by because they were captured in the little square behind the house of their boss, just a few yards away from me. Since I hosed them down with cold water they had grown respect for me so that it sufficed to take a threatening look over the fence the moments they were freaking out again. This at my neighbors great indignation who wished me gone if I would dare to do that again. Well, that wasn't needed. I had won. And that in the 'year of the Neighbors' as declared by the government.

I had considered the proposal of my brother to spread abroad the design for a new clock. I had reached, with my to-be-or-not-to-be, the point of understanding that to give publicity to something would not make much sense when it wouldn't have any life of it's own. I tested the idea once before with an engineer and an astronomer without being further involved with them personally. They offered their services as a scientific duty, but met me with disbelief only, because of inaccurately formulated astronomy and a lack of clarity about the necessity of a new system. I was no astronomer, they were no psychologists and the engineer washed his hands in innocence. That's how the intellectual part of humanity lives with drawers full of dusty problems and solutions with the drive for renewal being lost in the tumult of the ego. Of Freud we learned to think of our selves and ask at best, wondering at the level of the super-ego, what our selfrealization would have to do with objective reality. How morality would lead to a soul serving progress was in fact a mystery.

End of the twentiest century there was an enormous egoculture of millions of people all getting relieved of their creative needs on the Internet and other media. How that chaos would have to grow into one cohering whole wasn't clear at all at the time. I had a dream: to deliver mankind a service by giving hope for a new world that would be free from the dictature of delusion; the arbitrariness and conflicts of political egoism. I also wanted to liberate the world from the yoke of religious ritual worship and provide for a new concept of God. A concept of God that would unify all cultures and creeds and would prove atheism to be fiction. There is only one God who has assumed the form of Time. This God is strictly neutral: the ecstasy of the natural harmony of spheres not judging over good and evil. The good is that what would be returning time and again and would endure. So thus would mankind. Evil would be that what's constantly out of harmony while destroying itself. God is the order of time, the consciousness of all living beings knowing itself by means of simple repetition. In the order of these repetitions a fugue comes into existence called life confirming for itself all matter as a vital living striving from darkness to light and vice versa. The soul is nothing else but the selfremembering in that harmony which of course is not bound to one body only but present in the consciousness of every known living being and potentially in all matter.

Everybody attending to a clock is a religious being, atheists do not as such exist. How is it possible not to believe in time? The coziness by which we forget the time is the Time and the God who is enough to Himself without clocks. The more direct, the better. The complete of religious rituals reduced to an exercise in reading clocks. Mankind cured from nonsense and powercomplexes. Liberation in the Here-and-Now that is different for each place and person every moment, every day of every year. A beautiful dream: politics as service to the God who is the time and religion just a school of learning how to command one's own time. From prayer to computing and from computing at the time learning to count with each other. The timecomputer as successor to the wristwatch. How would it have to look like and how would we have to live with it?

I understood that no one would take notice of my ideas if it wouldn't be a practice to be jealous of. Isn't jealousy the primal drive of man? Because God is so powerful we want His throne isn't it? It's not because He would be a pauper or looser, would it? So: how to have a dream from reality and a reality from the dream. When it's ultimately about a time-machine, I had to prove that that timemachine would be worth while. I had to think of what I told my brother of computers put on a table with the chairs tied up to it. I would have to do nothing less than to put a flying saucer into function and prove thus that a higher developed awareness of time would be much more capable of than just indicating the time of day. The order of the entire cosmos was discovered by it: that proof would turn the scale in the battle of the resistance against change. I became aware of the birth of the cosmic paradox: to find happiness on earth in the harmony of relating to the sun, the adventure of the societal discovery and exploration of the cosmic order had to get started. The discovery and exploration of the celestial reality was not the goal it selves, but it formed the means to bring about that cosmic consciousness in love for one's natural planetary existence. Not traveling trough time is the goal, but the celebration of the cosmic harmony of Time in the Here-and-Now of the presence of the living force. A Rose is a Rose, is a Rose, culture maintained. And that is the result. I realized that the way to that result would give a conflict between people who would want to travel and discover and people who would want to stay and celebrate. The latter would win. Mankind would embark upon an adventure and come back from it. Our Big Brother would leave the house only with the aim of returning to Mother Earth with a gift called cosmic consciousness. Now I had to begin dreaming and my dream had to become reality. *



The Reinout family originated from a line of teachers from father's side and a family of clockmakers from the side of the mother. Peter was the eldest son and convinced of his conversion to psychology. His father converted him at high school to follow the royal road of reason and not the way of emotion. As far as Peter was concerned, he would have become a celebrated artist. On high school the only A's he got were for hand- and graphic drawing. Especially graphic designs of a complicated and symbolic nature were his favorite self-expression. Hours of his free afternoons and the afternoons he had to do his homework, he could spend drawing. Sheets of paper full of circles and peculiar composition. Pictures with a strange double perspective and spatial paradoxality. Escher was one of his great examples and in everything he tried to surpass his drawing-teacher, who placed, every time he came to him with a product of east-indian ink and ecoline, a 9, with a deep sigh, preferably at a clearly visible spot in the drawing.

In his figurative drawing he weaved all kinds of forms of men, animals and e.g. cubes of cheese into each other to make magical images and symbolic puzzles. He illustrated the schoolpaper and had long hair, platform-shoes and thought of girl-friends more than of friends. In math and physics he was not the first and he endeavored for mean results. Dutiful he worked himself through high school and lived the sixties in an ecstasy of alternative self-gratification. In a dislike for the establishment and its small-minded gruesome wars he wanted to live free love as an artist and join the academy of arts. But father led him on the right path. "You can do arts always later, if you choose a training at the level of college, then you'll be doing something you won't do so quickly later on". The smart fox, and Peter wouldn't be sorry.

Studying psychology was very popular at the time of the Vietnam-war and he felt for it. Although it was his second choice, he did what his father wanted. Drawing was a fine hobby, although he was worried about the fierce reaction of his drawing teacher who didn't understand how he could choose for such a pile of dry books. As for him Peter would go to hell. And so it did take Peter 25 years before he made a new drawing.

It was a graphic design of a circle divided in six by a Davidstar without the interconnections. At the edge of the circle there were 366 little stripes indicating the stardays. The circle figured as a scale for a clock indicating true sidereal time. This scale moved to the left every day one stripe underneath an indication of noon, sunrise and sunset. According to vedic literature he called the disc the Cakra and thus he had created the ultimate cosmic timepiece: for the duration of a year every indication of time was unique. After one year only the same indication would repeat itself. The circle was divided in 24 periods of 15 stardays and six extra days to each to indicate a two-month period beginning with the shortest day of the year: the 22th of december. To leap once in four years the disc would be stopped except for the leap-years following a 125-year period beginning at the year zero. Reinout's Astrarium, the technical term for a clock representing the spin of the earth relative to the sun, the moon, the planets and the stars was born. It was a 24 hour-clock with 48 minutes and 48 seconds. The disc for the stardate was the scale of the clock. One division of time for the complete whole of the cosmos. The precession of the equinox, because of which the celestial sky is shifting one starday in seventy years, was indicated with a special rotation of the disc, not placing above in the middle the sun, but the center of the milky way. The Cakra-calendar, which transposed from stardate to sundate gave in one starday halfway the year, had thus a cosmic birthday to celebrate the birthday of the universe. The fifteenday-periods were divided in two weeks so that after a fortnight there would be an extra free day so that people would be less enslaved to work for a holiday and would live more relaxed in a year of only 48 weeks. The peculiar habit to leave collectively for going abroad in the summer would not exist any longer. People in need of a holiday, could, especially during the dark month's of the year, leave for a couple of weeks if they would continue working on saturdays to make up for the loss.1* There wouldn't be any need anymore for a collective holiday-period, but there would be a preference for a more quiet style of life with long weekends and once in the two month's a four-day period meant for celebrations. Once in the four years there would be a five-day period of celebration for the sake of leaping the Cakra-calendar. To settle a division of the day above and underneath the disc there was a digital window were people could compare the old roman calendar with the cakracalendar and could compare suntime, Greenwichtime and standardtime with the time indicated on the Cakra. Thus one could get used to Cakratime while still following the old system. There was no question of repressing an old tradition. Just the development of a new awareness of time was meant. Next to the disc there was an interface with which the clock could be turned in all kinds of positions, different forms of time could be settled, longitudes and latitudes could be programmed for perfect local timing and an alarmsystem could be set to warn several times a day how according to this or that digital view of time the Cakra should be respected. Despite the fact that it was a clock with several forms of time and calendars and would leave nobody to want for more because it could be programmed to any personal preference, it looked simple. One saw a normal clock of which the small hand indicated the position of the earth and the big hand the course of an hour, with the scale indicating which day one had.

Peter was satisfied as he discovered how he could divide the time the most harmonious and favorable way without repressing the old system. It answered all demands: the combination of digital and analog indications was, as opposed to the old double-watches, used meaningfully to bring about the awareness of the difference in spatial and serial representations of time that was needed for the conquest of cosmic space. He saw very well that the clock, which he called the Cakra Tempometer, because finally it had become evident what exactly was indicated analog on scale with a form of time, was too complicated to appeal directly to the lay person who had no clue of the whole problem of time. What did people know about why one fantasied about spacetravel and flying saucers: they had never heard of the cosmic paradox. Peter had a clear vision of a society transformed by the cosmic consciousness of the Cakra-order. Every place it's own time and every day its own indication in one would liberate the people from the fixations and compulsion of the old standard of time that depended too much on the inductionproblem of too much of always the same with a seven-days-monotony, timezones, twelve hour scales and an illogical calendar referring to the false authority of the old patriarchy.

Peter was glad not to be the inventor of the Tempometer. Everything he settled, he could finally find in literature. With that humanity was freed from false authority and egotroubles. Religion could be referred to Vedic literature and the scientific community could be satisfied with the strict systematic logic of the division. Now politics would have more free reign to experiment with time with less feelings of guilt. They did so for centuries since Napoleon, but this was constantly accompanied by warfare and dirty hands. Now they could experiment with the whole of mankind without confusing but a single person. Cakratime would figure as a red thread trough all experiments of time. Peter even got a vision of a whole new societal structure that wouldn't be founded on the old roman class-struggle, but would be founded more on an improved version of the old Vedic division of society to status and societal orientation. A new order based on personal volition that wouldn't have any difficulties anymore with marks of identity but would intelligently give expression to that so that separation and conflict between individual and group characteristics of identity would drop away. According to the orientation in life people could, in stead of a political color confess themselves to the color of their occupation: a beige costume for all on the pay-role, a gray costume for all working in the trade-department, a noble dark-red costume for all in civil and military services and a black costume for all intellectuals and caretakers of the spiritual soul. The status of the individual would then be expressed in the color of the shirt: a green shirt for all bachelors and virgins, a white shirt for all with sexual experience married or not, a blue shirt for all withdrawing from sexual life and a orange shirt for all who without a permanent residence are traveling around in service to the order to transmit the highest wisdom. Special deserve and experience could be expressed in special honorary signs in the form of gold and silver sixpointed stars hanging from a band around the neck where before the neck-tie or butterfly-tie was worn. That band would also without honorary signs clothe the costume in the same color or could characterize a shirt. With the differentiation of the honorary signs there would be 48 different identitygroups with which people in public could place each other quickly. The old clothing of creative self-expression would, of course, continue its existence as informal clothing for people wanting to continue incognito. Thus anyone could realize meaning, purpose and freedom, with which in principle everyone, except for the honorary signs maybe, can put on the clothing that he or she chooses. A married person can change from white to green; a blue shirt can change back to white and a greenhorn can give up everything from one day to the other and go through society as an orange shirt. The head of state can determine who deserves silver or gold: an acquired deserve with which by tradition anyone can distinguish himself at all times. Such a system could exist on the basis of the freedom of choice in clothing whereby only social control would form the authority over it and from it. Of course as with carnival anybody can always wear anyone's favorite clothing. Peter saw a dream come true and the truth as a dream.*

1*: even working on saturdays, going against the jewish sabbat could be precluded by a more righteous and healthy distribution of work in a 30-hour workweek.

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