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  2. Confessions of a Murdered Pope
    John Paul I
    By Lucien Gregoire
    2015

    CHAPTER 1
    The Reincarnation of Albino Luciani
        I remember them all

        Many times, many places
        Many people, many faces
        Many friends, many foes
        Many joys, many woes
        Many losses, many gains
        Many mates, many names
        Many ups, many downs
        Many smiles, many frowns
        Many struggles, many scenes
        Many hopes, many dreams

        Yet, always me
    * * *
    On Christmas day 1945, Albino Luciani eulogized General Patton in the Belluno Cathedral. A year earlier, Luciani and Patton had served jointly at the grave of a gay American soldier who had given his life to save twenty-eight Italian school children. Patton believed in reincarnation.

    Pinocchio
    Come, take his hand. Touch the sun, sniff the wine, taste the honey, peek the chartreuse, march the song. Come walk with him in the enchanting forests of the hinterland.
    Come, walk in the woods with the little boy Albino, together with Pinocchio and the Cat and the Fox and the Poodle Medoro.
    Let him take you out of the black and white chaos of yesterday into the technicolor world of tomorrow.
    Let him give you a breathtaking glimpse of the human soul.
    Let him reveal what he meant, when he told us:

    "Don't knock yourself out over smart monkeys and Adam and Eve. Each of us is responsible for our own evolution. We can choose to remain as mortal men, or, we can evolve as Gods."
    * * *
    Quote is from Albino Luciani's doctoral dissertation, February 27, 1947, Rome

    The Moth and the Butterfly Justin' is the reincarnation of Albino Luciani

    The Bike

    By the time of his tenth birthday; biking, swimming, hiking, climbing, baseball, basketball, football, hockey, soccer and a somersault or two, had claimed half of him.
    Curiosity, scrutiny, intellect, impulsiveness, or just simply the need to know, had taken over the other half. He had at this early age in life emerged as the Sherlock Holmes of our household.
    Yet, unlike his celebrated predecessor of the nineteenth century, his investigation was not of this world, but of the next.

    It was late in the afternoon when I went down the steps into the family room to see what the little rascal was up to.
    As I entered the room, he looked up and exclaimed, "I sold my bike. I got two hundred dollars for it."
    He was sitting at the table surrounded by a dozen books, hunched over one of them. I took it that he was reading from the book. I asked, "Who sold his bike?"
    "I sold my bike." he asserted.
    Suddenly, it struck me, he was speaking of himself. "Justin, you sold your bike for a couple hundred dollars? Are you crazy? That bike cost your mother and I more than a thousand dollars."
    "That's the most I could get for it. I tried to get more. But that's the most I could get for it."
    He took on a tone of utter conviction, "It makes no difference how much it cost you. All that counts is what I got for it."
    "But you don't have any right to sell your bike," I fired back, raising my voice just short of a shout.
    "Yes I do," his voice even more buoyant than before.
    "It says right here: 'Sell all that thou hast …'"
    "What do you mean, right here?" I began my interrogation.

    What did you do with the money?" I questioned, taking on a tone of frustration. "Where is the money?"
    "Mrs. Jackson has it," he shot back.
    "Mrs. Jackson?" raising my voice, "What is she doing with it?"
    "I don't know. But she needs it much more than we do.
    "As you know, her husband died last month. She is losing the house and has four children to bring up.”
    Bouncing back with a whimsical smile. "She doesn't know where it came from. I sealed it up in an envelope and slid it under her door."
    "You slid it under her door?" I shrieked.

    Conspiracy of the Gods

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