Children of the Source Page 10

  “Running away?” The sneer lay in the words. I turned to the arrogant man at the head of the table. So completely sure of himself. The perfectly molded body, smooth and strong with careful balanced energies, ageless. Hairless with warm bronze skin and brilliant blue eyes. Someone I liked but didn’t trust and wanted, needed, a distance between us.

  “Akenton, so sure of yourself. Is there nothing you cannot do and have not done? All of us know full well you intend to war. Trying to control this hatred and anger is all you can barely do. How limiting. No, we are leaving and wish you well,” I said.

  Akenton’s teeth showed. “Anemic child. Your passions are rusty and weak. Your Will abbreviated with ideas. Perhaps it is best you creep away and leave us.”

  The laughter came from my immediate left. The great head with its splendid black hair, Mator. “He has never violated his oath. That is worth something. We are stained with what we have done, will do, Akenton.”

  The two rivals stared at each other. Each, leader of a fanatical faction sure the other was wrong. Eugenics. Akenton had mastered it, and Mator considered that an affront to the universe. Akenton used his knowledge to enhance his followers, and recruit more. They became a race of supermen and women. Sure of themselves in their arrogance, they could extend their lives for dozens of years. But there was a problem. A mysterious cutoff date of approximately a hundred fifty years. No one knew why. Everything started breaking down at that point. Akenton labored single-mindedly to find out why, but every avenue appeared blocked. When his followers lobbied him to give them the secret of the Sound Language, he always refused. They had no place to go, and began to desert his ranks.

  Mator said he knew, and taunted Akenton that he would never discover the reason. Akenton’s followers besieged Mator, who answered simply that physical bodies were not meant to live longer. This simple truth did not satisfy them. Some of them became very frustrated and turned to me. At the time my name was Kodus. I was one of the leaders of the scientist-priests who controlled the Sound Language.

  I shook my head. “Akenton,” I said, “there are seasons of behavior. You are in the consuming rage of Summer.” I stared into my brother’s eyes. “The final storm of Summer is nearer than you think, and its aftermath will leave an open wound that will never truly heal. That will change everything.” I stood ready to go. “One day remember our friendship and call for me.”

  Mator hugged me. “Remember me, Kodus.”

  “Indeed, my friend. We are not done,” I said. Mator and I had a deep affection for each other. I turned at the door looking at those behind me. Akenton, face sour, would not meet my gaze. I bowed and left.

  In the flow afterwards, I knew of the disastrous war between Akenton and Mator. Thousands died, the planet lay in ruins, until only Akenton and Mator were left. Then Akenton overwhelmed Mator and, standing over his body, understood in that eternal moment the horror of what he’d done.

  In an instant of time Akenton/Charles was there asking me to come back. He’d changed. I still felt the jolt of distrust and gut catching desire to keep a distance between us. But something had changed. No longer having the Sound Language, he still had the great personal power, confidence, and vast intent, but the focus was changed. Aimed in a singular desire to create a positive change in others and the Earth. Gone was the careless arrogance and in its place a frightening awareness and intent to create, but tempered with wisdom and patience.

  He asked us to be the focus for this return on a local level - especially me and Judith. I’d be the welcoming committee with others from our group, reincarnating in a survival community. Memories and abilities would awaken at specific times. A carefully calculated dance of time and circumstance some might call magic. And in this dream that was more than a dream an inner shift opened within and I had the Sound Language again, complete with everything it was capable of doing. The best I can describe is having a series of tuning forks available within that I could use and project with my mind. Everyone and everything has a feeling-tone, a frequency. Anything can get tuned into with this Sound Language and its molecular structure manipulated. But along with this Sound Language was a deep ingrained need never to abuse it. This ingrained knowledge came from understanding that all life is conscious, aware, with the right to prosper in its own way. Blessed be and Harm none were cornerstones of this Sound Language for me.

  But Charles knew the memories of what he’d done could not be masked from the aliens. His was a history so horrendous as to have gone down in legend akin to Hitler, Genghis Khan, and Tamerlane. He and his followers had ruined the planet without remorse or care, leaving a devastation that literally took hundreds of years to repair. He needed to keep a low profile, indeed, to be as near invisible as possible.

  I didn’t know what to expect from the aliens. I did remember Akenton’s disillusioned followers pleading to join us. Their fanaticism, legendary for its extremes, made us wary of accepting any of them into our group. They thought nothing of killing or maiming someone for the most casual slight or disbelief in their version of eugenics. Did any of them mask this dangerous behavior to join us? I didn’t know. If so, did they still exist among my former group?

  When unable to sleep longer I tried to probe this question, I got nowhere. Here, I had the Sound Language with everything it was capable of, but the memories were not there. Just bare bones with a vague uneasiness. There was nothing to do but wait. The rest of the night passed uneventfully.

  Late the next morning Abe and I headed for the Arms Shack, a twenty by twenty foot building with a covered awning of the same size. The spacecraft still circled the Peaks almost a fixture in the blue sky. But curiosity kept small groups studying them. One of these group sat around a picnic table. Dick Clayton, our chief hunter and arms expert, waved a hand briefly in greeting. A quiet man, his lean frame and large hands told of a life outdoors. Close cut curling grey hair fitted neatly on a leonine head. “Abe. Jamie.” The high voice somehow went well with his reserved, but independent personality. He sat on one of several picnic tables underneath the awning re stringing a crossbow.

  June Oberman trotted up and Abe blushed. “Lo, Dick. Jamie. Abe.”

  “Lo, June,” Dick said.

  “June, how you doing?” I asked.

  “Good. Cat got your tongue, Abe?”

  He grinned at her. “Oh, no, ma’am. Just waiting my turn. Age before whatever, you know.”

  She eyed him. “So?”

  “How are you, June?”

  “Pretty good, now you ask. Thank you. Headed out on the hunt, Abe?”

  “Hope to. Depends on what Dick thinks. He’s in-charge.” He nodded, foolish grin still on his freckled face. He adored her and to everyone’s amusement they bantered like a feisty old couple.

  “When is the hunt?” she asked.

  “We leave tomorrow, I hear,” Abe said.

  “You be extra careful, mister,” she said to Abe and plunked down next to him.

  “Always. The elk will be high on the mountain this time of year.”

  “How many men will you be taking, Dick?” I asked.

  “Eight including the hunters. Lot of meat to pack out,” Dick said. “Betty said we need more meat in two weeks.” A flock of birds turned in the air as one and flew to a stand of pine trees.

  “Group mentality. A group soul,” June said. “I’m glad I have my individuality.”

  “They do, too. And you are, we all are, a part of group souls,” I said.

  “Back up, Jamie,” June said. “What’ d you mean we’re part of group souls?”

  “It’s not as bad as you’re thinking, June. The Souls that created us are composed of many many personalities, each a part of the larger whole. Hence a group soul. The Over soul or overall identity creates each of its personalities. Personalities only incarnate once in this system. The Soul may reincarnate many many times.”

  “We know part of this, but why are some personalities more developed than other personalities? They are, you know,” J
une said.

  “Yes, indeed. Because Souls are older and younger or more developed or less developed depending on their experiences. Each new personality has the essence memory and maturity of its Soul built into its psyche. All the lessons learned. The lessons may have been learned in triumph or in tragedy or not learned at all. You’ve heard the expression: as a dog returns to its vomit, so a man returns to his folly. Sometimes it takes a lot of nose rubbing in the snot of life to learn something. But when a lesson is learned it is a beautiful thing to see. And it only takes a brief instant in time for the lesson learned.”

  “Is there a time when the Soul is done reincarnating?” Dick asked, fingers working the crossbow.

  “Yep,” I said. “The Entity decides that point.”

  “So who pulls the plug on these personalities - decides the point and manner of death?” Abe asked.

  “The Soul/Entity on the Other side. That can be a sore point with the personalities. Some do not feel they were done or deserved the death arranged. And on the Other side, another sore point comes when the personalities understand they were created with built in problems - physical, mental, emotional, economic. This doesn’t endear the Soul to the personalities either. These sore points can make it a challenge for the Soul to encourage the personalities to reintegrate their energies with their Source.”

  “And karma, Jamie? People say you have good or bad karma,” Flo Henderson said.

  “You, as a new personality, are not responsible for the mistakes, poor judgment, and unfortunate behavior of the ‘past personalities’ of your Soul/Entity. You may repeat the mistakes if the lessons are not learned,” I said. “You can also benefit from the lessons already learned.”

  “So no karma?” Flo said.

  “Well, karma simply means you reap what you sow. If you practice risky behavior like swimming with sharks, unprotected sex with lots of people, handle rattlesnakes, use drugs, run with thieves and thugs, don’t take care of yourself with proper diet and exercise - things like that, you can’t, in all honesty, blame your Soul for what happens to you. If you know this, you can partner with each other and create something positive and beneficial for both of you. We do that here.”

  “Why,” Rick Martin said, “hasn’t this been known down through the centuries?”

  “To a very few it has. But the thought comes to mind, why would these Souls want to spoil a good learning venue for themselves where you, the personality, holds them responsible for some of the things that happen to you in your physical life?”

  Greg Lopez cleared his throat, opened his bear-like hands, “So partnering with your Entity. We know our Entity/Soul is the Go To Person in our life. We explain our hopes, dreams, and goals. Thank It for the good things in your life.”

  “Be sure to examine your beliefs while you’re at it,” I said. “Will they take you where you want to go? Then look for input.”

  Flo said, “Like dreams, intuition, hunches, information from other people, things you read, and plain everyday experiences,”

  “Exactly. This is the language of the Entity. It’s way of speaking to you. The clues and cues to help you on your way. We’ve learned to tune into, to make the language of the Entity second nature to us. If you are into risky behavior, you may have a warning dream of impending disaster or a minor ‘accident’ which warns you of things to come.”

  “But they can be positive, too.” June said. She sat next to Abe, gently elbowed him in the side, eying him slyly.

  I laughed. “Right. The whole idea is to create a positive experience. We do this here by focusing on the positive constantly. There are past civilizations, and in other realities systems, knowing their origins, that call on their Entities/Souls in group gatherings, as we do, for their wisdom, knowledge, and understanding. Then, knowing the language of the Entities/Souls, watch and catalog the knowledge given. These civilizations were and are far in advance of our own.”

  Rick stared at me, unsettled. “You obviously have second thoughts about the motivations of these Entities. Why? What is their motivation?”

  “Learning. But their focus is much larger than ours. Their value systems reflect that. They know they are eternal and you, their personalities, are eternal. They are interested in the growth gleaned from learning from experiences they can have with their personalities. So they are not bashful in creating horrendous experiences for them so they can learn. The trouble is we are on the receiving end. Personally, I have told my Entity, if It wants a terrible experience to learn from, to have it with another part of itself in another reality. Doesn’t always work.” I smiled. “But It, at least, is aware of my interests and feelings on the matter.”

  “So,” Dick said, “how do we deal with these powerful creatures we are a part of?”

  “In a positive way. They aren’t malicious, but they do need to be communicated with. That can change everything. They will be less inclined to create mischief, a disease or problem if they know that you know who they are, and how they work in relation to you. We do that here. It creates more positive options.” I gestured. “In every way we look for clues and cues. We compare notes and experiences together. We ask for information. We seek it, and it comes. The materials we need and seek come one way or another for the projects we want to create.”

  “And those who want to destroy us, like Mr. Hensley?” Greg asked.

  I shook my head. “I’m not sure, other than keeping it positive.” I scratched my head. “That is one guy I haven’t got a handle on. He has enormous power and a very primitive belief system based on good and evil. A scary combination. Anyone have any ideas?”

  “You baited the man,” Greg said voice edged with concern. “Calling him Torquemada Junior. You, of all people, have more brains than to do that. What’s going on, man?”

  “I know and I’m not sure why. The emotion just roared in. Something is not finished here from that time long ago,” I said.

  “So what memories do you have from that time when everything went wrong?” Greg opened and closed his great hands.

  I shook my head. “Pretty much zero. I know of the principal leaders, but not of the support players. It may be Hensley is from an Entity that was part of that scenario. Why else would he be here?”

  Flo sat down on top of a picnic table. “But this happened thousands of years ago. How can it continue now?”

  I pointed to the aliens. “It does. These Entities are free of time and space. Most systems don’t use time and space. Time and space are peculiar to certain physical systems like ours. So it seems that it took place thousands of years ago, but the drama continues. To the Entities involved, the continuing drama has nothing to do with thousands of years ago as we know it. This new lifetime to them would be like the next event in an evolving experience.”

  “If Entities are like growing children, maturing slowly, we could be dealing with some very immature people, like Hensley,” Greg said. “Imagine someone with the Sound Language who is vengeful and self-indulgent. Recipe for disaster. Like before.”

  “Indeed,” I said. “That’s exactly what I’m concerned about.”

  7

  We spied some hurried activity at the Main Gate to the outer perimeter. “”What do you get, Dick?“

  “An injury. A child-boy. An older man, distant.” He looked at me. “And you?”

  “Birth. A sadness. Violence in illness. Rage from no resolution.”

  “I’ve noticed you see things in terms of feelings and emotions. Why not images like I got?”

  I looked at him soberly, still feeling the play of experiences I’d picked up. New dimensions of these ideas opened themselves as the experiences continued to play ever-widening, like the ripples after a rock is tossed into the water, until I had a pretty clear picture of what we were dealing with. “The images you picked up,” I said, “contained enormous amounts of information. You sensed this. All I did was focus on the images and explore the feelings and emotions attached to them. Guess that’s why I described them t
he way I did.” We stood silent for a moment.

  “I’ll get Evan and Helen to the clinic,” Dick said.

  “Thank you. I’ll get Laith. He studied with Maria Beck. Maria is still at the fort. May need a herb or two.” We hurried off after checking first impressions as to where those we wanted would be.

  By the time Laith and I arrived at the clinic Evan and Helen had the situation well in hand. A large man in his fifties stood uncertainly to one side. The tired eyes in the seamed and dirty face held a certainty that life dealt circumstances which though senseless must be endured.

  A young woman barely twenty sat on the bed, face a welter of agony. “Oh, God, the pressure,” she moaned and got up.

  Helen turned to me. “She’s fully effaced and dilated. Everything looks normal. Just have to wait.”

  I turned to the man. “Want to come with me? Get cleaned up? Get something to eat? Not much you can do here. It’ll be a couple of hours. She’s in good hands.” He looked over at the young woman, now sponged clean, and dressed in a short birthing gown. A birthing stool sat to one side, ready when she was.

  “Go ahead, Pa. Good people here. Good feelings.” The voice husky to match her build told of a reliance on intuition. He nodded tiredly and followed me to the door then turned, eyes only for his daughter.

  “I love you,” he said.

  She smiled, making her slightly swollen features handsome. “I know. It’s one of the things that’s kept me going. I love you a heap, too.” A ghost of a smile rose in his eyes and edged his lips. He followed me out.