Children of the Source Page 5

  Eventually the rain slowed, no longer dancing off the street. The gutters ran full, and here and there the sun began to break through, catching the wet like a thousand diamonds. Suddenly Mike cocked his head to one side. Laith noticed and motioned us to watch. The mule named Harley, stamped his hoof and snorted, impatient to be gone. I ran a hand over his soft muzzle, and he nuzzled me back. We waited until Mike spoke. When he did he seemed far away.

  “Nomads wait at the corner of Elm and Humphrey in the ruins of the rock house on the northwest side.”

  “How are they armed?” Grant asked.

  “One revolver that works. Two rifles and one shotgun are bluffs. Three rounds for the revolver.”

  “Who is the child?” Laith asked. “She’s sick,”

  Mike blinked his eyes open and seemed startled. “Sorry. I couldn’t get that.” We discussed the information, questioning Mike on what he picked up. Meg sat watching, not understanding.

  “Any crossbows, spears, swords?” Grant asked.

  “No,” Mike said, quite sure. That made things easier. Crossbows were perhaps only a little less deadly than rifles. These once medieval weapons had gained a popular revival for their accuracy, and dependency on scarce ammunition. We used them.

  “I think we can pull it off,” I said, and looked around for opinions. Three silent nods greeted me.

  “What about the revolver?” Meg asked.

  “Easy to handle. One weapon anyway,” Laith said.

  “How?” she challenged.

  Grant said, “Time is plastic, not fixed, Meg. You think of it as a stream of moments one after the other that can’t be altered. It can be changed if you know how.”

  The rain had stopped. We led our mounts out into the sunshine. Few things smell better than the earth after a rain. We made our way across Beaver and the one block to turn up Humphrey. Two blocks went fast.

  We’d almost made it past the intersection of Elm and Humphrey when three men jumped out behind us, weapons ready. With a loud dramatic voice a thin hollow faced man announced, “Hands up.”

  We raised our hands, according to the script. “What do you want?” I asked innocently.

  “Idiot,” roared the leader. “Jack, Harold, Ike see what guns they have. I’ll keep them covered.” The three men ran up. I could see the revolver protruding from the leader’s belt. Two women stood up. They were unbelievably dirty. Suddenly a young girl’s thin wailing pierced the air. A curse followed. One of the women ducked down. The leader looked back. In less than fifteen seconds the three men lay on the ground grunting with pain.

  “Through playing games?” I asked the startled leader.

  “We could kill you easily,” he said, gesturing with the shotgun. “Get your asses up,” he swore at his men. We sat on our mules quietly. His men crawled off to one side in no condition to get up.

  “Your guns won’t work,” I said easily.

  “This does.” He jerked the ancient .38 revolver from his belt, pointing it at me. “Get off that beast.” I got off Harley.

  “Won’t work,” I repeated.

  His hand holding the revolver trembled. “What are you doing?” I held my hands up. “I feel off.” He extended the weapon, aiming point-blank at my face.

  “Don’t.” It was one of the women. The leader wavered. “Can’t you see it’ s Jamie. Maybe he can help the girl,” she pleaded. “Lord knows we can’t,”

  The leader’s gaunt features mottled with rage. “He said my gun wouldn’t work.”

  “Maybe it won’t. The man’s a wizard,” the woman said. “They have no weapons. Give them the girl and let’s go.”

  The man named Ike spoke up, “Give her to them. God, Harry, she’s a stone around our neck. They ain’t got no weapons, but it’s a way to get rid of the girl.”

  “Shut up, damn you. She’s my niece.”

  “What’s wrong with the girl?” I asked.

  “She’s crippled. Fell down a cliff. Legs don’t work. Bladder and bowels ain’t too hot either,” the woman said.

  “Shits her pants.” Ike snickered.

  “Hey!” Harry shouted.

  “Can you help her, Wizard?” the woman asked.

  “Yes,” I said. I knew I could. The probability was clear.

  “Can you save yourself, Wizard?” breathed Harry, eyes lighting, mouth half open in a snarl. He straightened the revolver, shoving it into my neck, and pulled the trigger. The hammer came down with a harmless click. He raised the weapon, barrel pointed skyward. A sharp report shook the air as the revolver went off.

  “Goddamn,” Harry said, shaken to his core. “Goddamn.” He looked around, seeing the shock on his people’s faces. “Take the girl. Her name is Marilyn,” Harry said quickly. Then turning to where she was lying, he picked her up. She must have been about Victoria’s age with long stringy blond hair. She looked terrible. Eyes gazed back listlessly. She smelled horrible. Laith dismounted, transferred Meg to Grant’s mount, and gathered the injured girl gently into his arms. Every move a prayer. Then he remounted.

  We left them watching us disappear over the edge of the hill, and made our way uneventfully back toward Cheshire. I always enjoyed the view of the Peaks from Whipple Street and Ft. Valley Road. The Peaks seemed massive, indomitable. Laith looked over at me. “That is the first time I’ve seen anyone bend time. You’re just plain good, Dad.” He gave a bell like laugh. It’s good to laugh.

  Mark Lancaster carried a cleaned and fed Marilyn into one of our healing rooms. Susan, his wife, followed. Laith and I stood by the examining table. I nodded at the girl. She showed no fear. “We’re going to make you better, Marilyn,” I said. Mark laid her on the table. She wore shorts and a T shirt. “Could we look at your back?” She nodded and with Susan’s help turned over. I drew back the T shirt. A third of the way up the backbone the ugly yellowing of a bruise showed. The skin was twisted with scarring.

  Time is plastic. I communicated with the injured area, finding out how and when it was before the accident. Taking that moment and condition I communicated it to the injured cells, changing their frequency so they behaved as they did before the accident. I changed my visual focus seeing the changing energies and their colors called auras. Re shaping the energies, I watched the yellowing change to pink and her toes wiggled. Sensation had returned to her lower body. She turned her head. “What did you do?”

  “With your help, we changed the injured part of your body to a healthy state,” I said.

  “Will I stay normal?” There was an anxiety in her tone. Not daring to believe.

  “Yes, Ma’am, you will.

  “Why is my back so hot?”

  “Energy, miss. A protective field to help keep the healing. It will stay hot for a while.” I pulled down her shirt. “Sit up.” She did, wiggled her toes more, eyes big. “Now, step down and see if you can walk.”

  She placed one foot on the floor, then the other. And stood. Holding on to the table, she shuffled her feet forward, and took a tentative step. Then another. Smiling, tears trickling down her cheeks, she walked across the floor to the door and back. “It’s been three months since the accident. I thought this was going to last forever. How can I thank you?”

  “Your walking is thanks enough. I think we went and done it.” I said. “Marilyn, Mark and Susan Lancaster are going to be looking after you.”

  Later that afternoon Judith and I with a dozen others were sitting around the meeting hall having tea. “So, Jamie, how did you get into healing?” I blinked and looked at Greg Lopez.

  Fleeting images with a gust of emotion swept me back. My heart raced with the gut catching experience. My father lying crumpled on the floor from a heart attack. My mother, stricken, knelt at his side, helpless. I knew he hadn’t much time. In an agony of desire, I pleaded to be able to help him. You can’t imagine how much I loved that man. The vast desire, the cry within to help him. And suddenly something opened up. Energy, I can’t describe, poured out, not from without but from within. I held my fathe
r and felt the energy flood into him, easing his body. He relaxed, taking a great breath, eyes touching me with a grateful thank you. A blessing. He lived in good health for another twelve years. And when he died, he was taking a nap in a rocking chair with a favorite cat in his lap.

  So, I told them, in halting fashion, of what happened. The Avenue of Energy stayed open, widened, deepened as I explored. I found I could use it to heal or help heal nearly anything from animals, trees, to people. This Source Within also gave information, and challenged me to explore and ask questions, to seek. Doors opened that I never knew existed. In relating to others I found I had to be careful, as the information I gained changed how I viewed reality in almost every way. I learned that everything is alive, conscious, and eternal. And change is a constant.

  “So why is this world so god-awful nasty with everyone setup to eat everyone else?” Jana asked, and shook herself with a shiver.

  “I’ve never found a good answer for that. Nature is hardcore. Nothing comforting about how our system is set up,” I said. “It’s always left me with a sense of incredulity that a world can be so beautiful, and so savage and unforgiving at the same time.”

  “So why all of this.” Jana gestured.

  “I don’t know who set up this world. It gives you pause when you consider that a group of Beings got together and created the Earth. It’s a staggering idea. The Earth is a living Being, too. It’s pretty scary, but three things come to mind. We learn by experiencing ideas created in contrast, extremes. The intensity of the experience produces the intensity of emotion which produces the opportunity for understanding the idea. The more intense the experience, the more emotion. Emotion is the chief learning tool of this system. It teaches you about the power of ideas, and what you believe. The mind mirror. This is one of a number of worlds where this is possible.”

  “What is the second thing?”

  “The bottom line is you get what you believe. What can be more magical? It is the linchpin for all we experience. So watch how you feel and what you believe, because the experiences you draw to yourself like a magnet, mirror your mind-set.” I paused and said, “Mary Bareton, my mother-in law, said to me once that there is a place of supreme power and intelligence within everyone that automatically creates exactly what you believe. Call this your Soul or Entity. It also sets up probable events, that get introduced to you in their infancy; a disease, an accident, an opportunity, an event. That is why often a lot of physical problems appear and introduce themselves first thing in the morning when you wake-up.

  “This Entity or Soul isn’t interested in your version of good and evil, justice or anything else. It creates from within. She asks what are you willing to participate in? When you pray, though you may think so, it is not to an all powerful God outside yourself governing the world and Universe. There is no Sunday School type God. The so-called God prayed to is always within. You are praying to this Greater Self, Soul or Entity within who created you.

  “There are tools you can use to short circuit a problem or challenge offered you. The main one is realizing you are an independent personality who can say No to these probable events that could be realized in full. Few know of this. Also, another one is the time lapse between the belief and its creation into a physical experience. This depends on the intensity of the belief. The more intense the belief the shorter the time span. Change the belief and short-circuit the event. Beliefs operate like an electric circuit. They travel through time, and gather power according to how they are fed by the person. How many people participate in a disease or experience instead of saying no? There are medical, scientific, social, political, religious, military, educational and economic infrastructures you can get lost in if you aren’t careful. Don’t feed what you don’t want. We know that here, and that is why things work.”

  I took a sip of catnip tea and ate an oatmeal cookie. “There is an order of Beings some call Souls or Entities that incarnate and reincarnate in human bodies to learn from the experiences available to them. They know full well they are eternal. They craft the bodies and personalities they use. Levels of intelligence, abilities, disabilities, appetites and inclinations, social and other opportunities, sex, body types, race, culture, nationality, and those they are incarnated with are part of this creation process. We are these personalities.”

  “We know the basics of these creatures that create us, just not the particulars,” Jana said.

  “They program their personalities the way computer programs are programmed. These personalities are independent individuals with free will, but have certain constraints built-in, often not happy ones. Considering history and human experience one wonders at this creation process. These Beings aren’t interested in our versions of right or wrong, quality of life, or justice. They are interested in learning from experiences they create. They feed on the contrast and extremes available to them. When they figure they’ve learned as much as they can from a lifetime, they end it.

  “It doesn’t seem to matter what the personality wants. I had two close friends who died, and through dreams said they were very angry at having died. That I need to understand. What is the relationship between the soul and the personality? The two are one in a way and separate in another. I’ve heard it’s rather like an adult directing its many children. Not comforting for the child.” I took another sip of tea. “Guess what I’m saying, you have to go with the cards you’re dealt, and use them the best you can.”

  “Sounds pretty cold-blooded,” Greg said.

  “Yep. If you use our versions of morality, justice, and eternity.” I scratched an itch on my arm. Bugs. “Lot of things I don’t understand. But you have to go with the creation process, and that is we get what we believe. We’ve used it successfully for all the years we’ve been at Cheshire. You are responsible for your own happiness. We know that here.”

  “What is the third thing?” Joanna asked.

  “Free will. It is something even these Souls who created us can’t control. It makes all the difference.”

  We buried the physical body of Chuck O’Banion just as the sun set. Meg stayed away with Judith. I tried to think of the words. I never use formal prayer or ritual. Too often they come across as empty. Wasted. The officiate more or less gloss over the person, trying to use the person as a pawn for a religious message that has no real validity. I spoke my words haltingly.

  “We live in times when a decent man can be hung for the extremes he’s been driven to just to remain alive and protect his own. Chuck is a good man and will go on to better things. We do not place his body in this hole with grief, but in the realization that he goes on.” I looked around. “Anyone have anything they want to say?” Fifty people stood or sat silently.

  I turned to face where I knew and could see Chuck and Ruth O’Banion at the head of the hole. They looked younger and more at peace out of their physical bodies. I spoke to them directly. “Ruth and Chuck O’Banion, you ran a hard course, and did it well. You kept your covenant with yourselves and others. You violated no man intentionally except in defense of yourselves and each other. You slaughtered no animals in blood sport or self-definition, but only took what you needed for food. You feel good within yourselves, and so you know the feelings of the Creator Within.

  “Now, your daughter cries the tears of misunderstanding at your leaving, and needs the knowledge you live and care for her still. I would ask and invite you on her behalf to speak through a medium tonight to reassure her you still live.”

  I saw them nod their heads in agreement. Several of us took shovels and began to fill the hole.

  “They’ve left,” Helen Roseman said. She stood with Laith. They’d announced their plans to marry in late July or early August. Of the same age, they had taken to each other immediately.

  “You feel up to acting as one of the mediums, Helen?”

  “Sure, Jamie,” she said, and then smiled mischievously. “Or maybe I should say Dad.”

  I chuckled. “Soon. Soon.” Laith smiled.r />
  Mike Roseman laughed. “Soon enough,” he agreed. We finished the task and headed for the Dining Hall. The people broke to go their separate ways.

  About forty people showed up for the trance meeting. Helen Roseman and Rosa Gutierrez stood talking with Judith and me by the two large armchairs. The distant sound of flute, guitar, and violin floated to us in the evening twilight. Rosa stood small, almost tiny, her face shaped for all the world like that of an energetic elf. She had this touch of innocence, didn’t understand airs, fakery, and pretend roles.

  “I found something out today, Jamie,” she said with a secretive smile.

  “Oh?” I said, suddenly alert. She really enjoyed her abilities, and revered them. Abuse of her talent never occurred to her.

  “What’s that, Rosa?”

  “The only thing I’m going to say is you’re going to have visitors soon, very soon.” She smiled at Judith mysteriously, and patted her shoulder.

  Judith and I exchanged glances. “Really,” I said, eying her with mock severity. Then I started to search my mind.

  “Won’t work,” Rosa said. She was right. I found nothing. I rolled my eyes and grimaced. Rosa laughed.

  Laith entered with Meg, and they threaded their way between people to us. Meg looked surprisingly serene. “Ready?” Laith asked.

  I nodded and turned to the milling people. “Let’s get started.” Rosa and Helen sat down in the opposing armchairs as the crowd took their seats and quieted down, and began to relax. Laith took a chair next to Helen. He was conducting. Meg sat with him.

  After a minute Helen’s eyes began to flutter. She straightened up. “Greetings.” It was a warm masculine voice. Familiar.

  “Jason. How are you today?”

  “Mighty fine, my man.”

  “Good. We have a young lady here, sitting beside me, who needs to speak with her parents.”