eleven ? the faroutest reaches of inner space

To this day I haven't been able to grasp Riri's ability to obtain and assimilate accurate information. If he actually had some sort of ability to "listen" to and even to "see" vibrations in the airwaves, how could he sort and make sense of so much vibratory information? His observations were accurate and logical. His application of the bits of information that he had picked up were always appropriate. The "whazzup-boogie dude's" agenda seemed to flow with events some of which triggered changes mid-course, but it invariably remained His agenda. If mine happened to be served by his, fine, but for the most part, my simply stated, but quite challenging agenda of trying to comprehend what I was experiencing, was irrelevant. Although Riri's demeanor was amiable, there was an intensity to his "rechurch". He was generally pre-occupied, intent on his mission to the extent that it was difficult to even interject questions, let alone be graced with answers about his observations.
It wasn't that he was curious in what you would call a selfish sort of way. He was clearly on a mission, as an explorer, an observer, not an ambassador. He never let slip whether his efforts were commissioned. If he were on assignment, it seemed odd that he was alone (he never mentioned others), but it would be a stretch to think that his expedition could be of a personal nature. In any case, I could barely keep up. I was constantly surprised, frequently amazed, completely awed, by what I was blessed to experience.
I felt I was learning right along with my curious guest. I was being treated to a re-markable re-education, re-valuation, and profound re-consideration of my self and the world I thought I knew, despite there never being enough time or space for enough questions. I found myself left to wonder endlessly about his world, his life, his family, his technology, his travels, what he ate (before he discovered ice cream) what he felt. Actually, as I think about it, although the answers I sought remained elusive, his feelings were for the most part apparent. I would say he "wore his heart on his sleeve", if he had a sleeve, or for that matter, a circulatory system.
It was remarkable to witness his process. Naive innocent wonder was complemented by persistent attention to comprehension. This opportunity to view my world through the rare perspective of what had to be a different consciousness, had showed up out of nowhere, make that elsewhere. Occasionally, if I paid attention an intersection of our interest would satisfy my need to understand his take on something in particular.