I'M NOT IN KANSAS ANYMORE

By Katrina Sealey

BETTER TO BE WITHOUT LOGIC
 THAN WITHOUT FEELING--CHARLOTTE BRONTE

BOOK I

ONE

It was a cold New England night, before I had learned to dress for the cold.  My toes had gone numb, as I made my way “home” from the West Gloucester commuter rail station, to the room I had been renting for a few months.  Certainly, the one card-board box Susan had sent me from Georgia, which contained my belongings, was due for an expansion.  I should have some warmer clothes for nights like this. 

Before leaving Boston, I had purchased a pair of silk socks from a small shop along the way.  In the bathroom at North Station, while watching a homeless woman wash her feet in the sink basin, I pulled my shoes and socks off, put the silk socks on, and over them, the thin cotton socks I had brought up from the South.  And on the train, a man had given me his extra wind-breaker to wear over my thin down vest, “The wind, it’s the wind,” and he insisted I zip it all the way up. 

Once I had made it to my Gloucester destination from Boston, I stopped at a tiny local bar—one of those quaint hole-in-the-wall joints with a neon Keno sign in the window.  As often, on a very cold night, the old wooden bar was full, as were the majority of the tables.  I would get a much needed break from the cold.

         “Hi hon, what can I get you?” asked the bartender.  “The house Merlot,” and I pondered whether one would be enough to carry me--most likely not.  I climbed onto a bar-stool in the back.  I had a lot catching up to do with drinking, having never experienced it to this extent, mostly, because I had never been this cold.  “Now I know why the Russians drink so much,” I thought.  Actually, I didn’t know anything about the Russians, but the thought had a nice ring to it.

How long had I been here?  Nine months, I counted.  I had secured a P.O. Box at the local Gloucester post office and also one in Cambridge.  I avoided having a recorded residence, by paying cash to a landlady who wanted to avoid reporting income.  We were a perfect match for one another—both of us hiding from something, or someone.

         I had also managed to change residences three times since I arrived--two in Gloucester and one in Brookline.  There was always an extra room or an empty sofa when I needed it.

The men and women of Gloucester, donning their barn coats, were warm and welcoming, except for that one time I drank a tad too much, and someone screamed at me, “This is not The Cape—don’t drink so much.”  

I became a bit more thawed and relaxed with each glass of wine.  But I had to keep my wits and not prevaricate, “I’m not a here to relax,” the thoughts came to the surface of my consciousness, just as an unfamiliar figure entered the establishment. 

He introduced himself as a Canadian tourist.   I doubted it—a feeling?  They’re not often this far south.  A destination in central Vermont, I would believe.   And, besides, he was too formally dressed to be on vacation. 

Sliding a $20 onto the bar, I headed to the ladies room, where I relieved myself and then slipped through the bathroom window--landing hard, on the frozen ground below.  And I ran, taking back-roads as often as possible.  I wasn’t dressed like a local, nor did I speak like one.  I knew it wouldn’t take long for the word to get around in the bar.

         I entered our cottage through the rear door and hurried upstairs—a three-bedroom addition on the house-- to the safety of my room. 

Just as I had caught my breath, my housemate knocked and asked me to join him for a Sam Adams in the kitchen.  Michael giggled like a school-girl, which turned his face red, and shook his generous belly, as he talked about his newly acquired lover—a visiting professor from Cuba.  I relayed the details of my work day in Cambridge where I was employed as a cashier at a small grocery near the Harvard Square T stop. 

As we chatted, I heard a knock at the front door. I hurried back upstairs. 

It was the police, looking for me, under my real name—Kate Conley.  Alice, the owner of home, told them she had a few guests over, but nobody by that name, as they showed her and Michael my photo.  Satisfied, and with no search warrant, they departed. 

Alice was at my bedroom door within seconds, “I don’t know who you are, or what you’ve done, but I don’t want attention brought to my home.  You need to leave--now.”

I grasped my small backpack, which contained a change of clothes, and exited the backdoor, through which I had entered less than an hour ago.  My feet, still freezing, I made it to the commuter rail station, and decided to head to Salem—much easier to be invisible there.  After all, Salem was “the city” on the North Shore.  Besides, there were so many people hanging out in the Aether in Salem, I would feel more normal.

But, I had been so much more relaxed before Alice confiscated my gun.  She found it hidden in my underwear drawer one day while I was at work.  That evening, our conversation went something like this, “Kaylie, I found your gun and I took it.  What were you doing with a gun?”

         “Alice, it wasn’t any gun, it was a 38 Smith and Wesson, and, BTW, what were you doing in my underwear drawer, while I was at work--sniffing?” I retorted.

The Salem station was long a haul from downtown in the cold, so I hit the first open bar I came to.  Shaken, but attempting to make small-talk, a local asked if I would like to have coffee at his place, an invitation I decided to accept. 

As we were walking, he related that he was a registered pre-sex offender who had spent time in prison as a young man for having sex with his under-aged girlfriend.  While doing time, he had been raped several times, leaving him permanently disabled.  

He lived in a three bedroom that he shared with two exotic dancers from the Golden Banana, in the somewhat substandard Dominican neighborhood known as, The Point, or, as the locals called it, El Punto.  His place was--while dark, with worn, cheap paint--cozy, clean, and most importantly, warm.  He was a model host, offering me a fresh brew of Java from his Keurig when we entered.

         “The police are looking for me,” I said as I took a hit from his bong and a shot of his whiskey.

“You can stay the night, then you can look for another place tomorrow,” and he offered me the sofa and his phone charger.

As the sun came up the next morning, I showered and dressed.  Making my way to the bus-stop on Lafayette Street, I caught the 455 into Boston. 

I was early for work, which gave me time to gather my thoughts before clocking-in.  Cal and Jennifer were two new employees at work—both students, both potheads.  They had a place in Somerville, one T-stop down from the grocery.

I called Tom, a pot dealer I had dated briefly from Essex, “Can you give me a good deal on a half-pound?” 

“I’ll deliver it to you today at work.  Meet me out front at noon,” he agreed.

Once again, I had a place to stay for two weeks, as I had struck a deal with Cal and Jennifer.  It was February in New England, and it I was warm.  That’s all that mattered.

TWO

Eighteen months year earlier, I had lived in Valdosta.  Our 5,000 square foot home was a French Country mansion, on half an acre.  We had constructed a privacy fence and often threw cook-outs for friends--our children enjoyed the yard as well.  I had been the model wife and mother.  I was James Conley’s wife (affectionately known as Jimmy).  It was the role my mother had groomed me for since I was a young girl. 

Our maid made twice weekly visits to help clean our enormous living structure, and she was also available for functions when I entertained members of the Junior Service League-- South Georgia Chapter--or catered to James’ colleagues. 

The circle of friends I enjoyed, were sweet Southern ladies.  On Saturdays, the ladies and I would go for manicures and exchange the latest town gossip, “You know Marsha’s daughter, Macy—she volunteered at the medical center as a candy striper, and I heard every doctor in town bends her over the hospital bed on third floor and does ‘you-know-what’ to her.” 

The sales representative for Aveda was a stunning gal with long curvy legs that complimented her slender build, a full head of naturally blonde hair, and impeccable style.  She was from Tallahassee in northern Florida and traveled the North Florida/South Georgia area.  Her visits were always welcome as local gossip made its way from one location to the next as she made her rounds.  The owners of each establishment embellished her tales before they relayed the information to their clients, as news was spread throughout her entire region.  And none of us was ever really sure what the truth was.  

Religion is the opiate of the masses, according to Marx.  And according to me, gossip is the control of the masses.  A small town remains a small town, no matter where its location. 

Hence, I had instructed my children to have fun and enjoy their lives.  “If they don’t know something about you, they will make something up.”

Our family’s comfortable upper middle class life, included Jimmy’s successful law practice, three beautiful and healthy sons, ties in a community in which we were more than slightly active, Carnival Cruises to the Bahamas, and a beach house near Savannah.  Our marriage of almost two decades, appeared to be as strong as the rock of Gibraltar, and the Presbyterian Church was proud to have us as members of its flock. 

James had a wife who worked hard and was a true compliment to his every move.  He was a lucky man, and he knew it.  I kept my body muscular and strong, even after the birth of our sons.  My long abdomen put me ahead of the game in any gym.  I regularly placed in local 5k’s for my age group--having trained daily through downtown Valdosta.

My main function in our partnership, was overseeing the children, and the house, which often meant rising at 5:00am to begin getting everyone prepared for the day.   I was quite content in that role.  I loved our children, dearly, and I was a very affectionate and nurturing influence in their lives.  I stayed on top of schoolwork and collaborated with teachers, all of whom were well acquainted with our entire family---not to mention, extended family.

From time-to-time, James employed my services as a paralegal, when someone in his office was out for maternity leave, or other personal time.  His office always guaranteed to keep me busy putting together pleadings, answering phones, managing other staff members, or organizing files. 

Our decorator, Layne, was known to drop by my home, on occasion, for coffee, with books of wallpaper and fabric samples, “Why don’t you plunder through these, and let me know if there is anything we can do for you,” she said, as she walked around the house.” 

“You have 18 foot ceilings throughout the house, with crown molding, in the majority of the rooms, and picture molding in others.  A wallpaper border would be so exquisite in the rooms with the crown molding. You should reflect on that for your sitting room.  Your duty, as a wife, is to make your husband relax as soon as he enters from the office.  So, pay attention to the calming décor of your sitting room—actually, the bedroom is of utmost importance!  And, of course, you would want to match the wallpaper border with the wallpaper itself—not to copy, but to blend.”

Layne was so loquacious, and although I truly loved and respected her efforts, it was difficult to turn her off, “Now, in the rooms with the picture molding, remember, you can always go with a deeper color from the molding up, one that coordinates with your wall covering choices.  I think a skirt on the bathroom sink vanity should match not only your drape choices, but should also blend with whatever you have going on with your walls.  However, the walls should not be the exact same print as your drapes—too repetitive.”

“If you need any help with Jimmy’s office, I can bring over some more traditionalist sample books,” Layne continued, still strolling through our somewhat ostentatious home.  She had focused on decorating, and held a degree in Fine Art, from the Art Institute in Atlanta.  But the bottom line with me, was that she put so much energy into her work.

         Susan, on the other hand, I considered to be a very close friend.  And when I thought of her, I couldn’t help but think of one of a quote I once read,

Friends can help each other.  A true friend is someone who lets you have total freedom to be yourself-and especially to feel.  Or, not feel.  Whatever you happen to be feeling at the moment is fine with them.  That’s what real love amounts to—letting a person be what he really is. 

For the most part, Susan was too busy running a family business to partake of the social goings on.  She, and her husband David, who were both from Italy, owned an Italian Restaurant that was in Macon—not the normal Southern fare, and they were not socially connected.  I felt comfortable enough to say anything. 

Each Friday, our family would drive north to Macon to Sotelo’s Restaurant, where I always enjoyed the linguini with clams, while my husband settled for the veal (although he always complained there was never enough garlic—after all, this was not the North End).  And, of course, the spaghetti with meatballs kept the children entertained long enough for the adults to chat.  Jimmy and I shared a bottle of Chianti and discussed our week and any upcoming social commitments.

On more occasions than not, Susan and David invited me back to the kitchen to sample various dishes with the kitchen staff.  Her dishwasher, Otis, a man in his fifties, had been with the restaurant since his children were small.  He sat with us as we talked about the children and his wife who made the Tiramisu—“it’s ladyfinger cookies, soaked in espresso, and topped with mascarpone cheese,” she offered.

THREE

“Kaylie, do you need anything else from your room?”  It was Michael, calling me at the grocery.

“Yes, I need all of my things.  Last night was particularly cold and as I was boarding the subway, an Irish-looking guy grabbed my coat right off my back.  He jumped the tracks just in time for my train to barely miss him and was gone—otherwise, I would have snatched it back.   I should have had it zipped.  Anyway, I need some warm clothes.” 

Easy come; easy go, with the coats on public transportation. 

“We could meet for dinner after my shift.  I need everything that I left at Alice’s house.”  And I explained to Michael that I had a place to stay for a few weeks.  At 5:00pm Michael was waiting outside the grocery for me with a small bag containing everything I owned. 

“Are you alright?  What is going on?” Michael attempted to coax the full story out of me. 

I made a hurried decision to give myself a break and grab a ZipCar.  Along the way, I explained to him that there are people who purposely invoke trauma into the lives of others.  People like this enjoy the pain and drama they inflict on others; it is a type of entertainment for them.  If we try to fix them, we will lose.  Sometimes we must simply remove ourselves from the situation.  And that’s what I have done,” I lied.  “I am on the run, of sorts, from my past.  I am maintaining my sanity in a crazy world, and there are people who are after me.”

“Why did you have a gun in your underwear drawer?  Have you shot anybody?”  Michael inquired.

“Every woman in the entire state of Texas has a gun in her underwear drawer.” I insisted, as if he were somehow out-of-the-loop.   And we pulled in to park at Dali’s in Inman Square to enjoy tapas.

FOUR

I was 39 when I began having the headaches.  By that time, my youngest son was 8 years old and the oldest was 18.  A handful of specialists could not determine the cause of my pain—CAT scans revealed nothing.

I paid a visit to Annapurna natural foods store in Macon, where I obtained capsules of the following: astragalus, turmeric, cayenne pepper, devils claw, buckwheat, and feverfew. 

I also experimented with high colonics, liver detox—none of these remedies stopped the pain and pressure in my brain. 

Transcendental meditation, acupuncture, cranial sacral, and yoga offered no relief. 

I explored the church in Middle Georgia.  By this, I am not referring to the Presbyterians, but a splinter-group of another splinter-group, spirit-filled church whose members believed in the healing of the holy spirit and speaking in tongues—the church was in Jackson.

Susan accompanied me.  I had picked her up in Macon in my BMW wagon.  Together, we made our way to Jackson. 

During my visit to this assembly, which took place in an old warehouse converted to a make-shift sanctuary, a member stood up and spoke in tongues.  Moments later came the interpretation, “The lord of hosts is saying that there is someone here who has an unnatural growth in their brain.”

The pastor then said, “If that person will come up to the altar, we will lay on our hands and pray for healing.”

Several people came forward, I was one of them.  The congregation laid their hands on those who came and began to pray in the unknown language referred to as tongues.  I was one of those people.  Several people were “slain in the spirit,” and they passed out at the altar.  They woke up completely healed, or so they said.

Nothing.  Absolutely nothing happened to me.  But I did get caught up in the frenzy of it all and I fell down on the floor, too.  The enormous rush of the whole thing swept me away.  And I must admit that there was an incredibly dynamic feeling in the room that served as a blanket of emotional comfort.

The headaches continued.

Four months later, James was working late, and the children were scattered at various friends’ homes throughout Valdosta.  I was watching the evening news, when the picture went blank, or more like grayish static.  Then the words came across the screen, “You have been selected.”

“What?”

“I said, you have been selected.”

“By whom?”  I questioned.

“You will come with us,” across the screen.

“Who are you?”

“We are your purpose,” across the screen.

Back to the news—the weather report was on--torrential rains headed our way.

FIVE

The humidity in San Antonio was so thick, I could cut it with a knife.  My white cotton dress began sticking to my skin, within less than a minute of leaving my air conditioned hotel room on the Riverwalk, and I wished I had worn a cotton bra.  Although it was hard to pull myself away from the banana and palmetto trees lining River, I headed down South Alamo, away from the touristy downtown.

Along the way, a brown-skinned man yelled at me, “You’re new here.  These Mexican men don’t eat no pussy.” 

“Can I go for a walk by myself without being hassled by you?”  I snapped back at him.

I had been away from Valdosta for about a week, when I was told by the front desk at La Mansion del Rio, to meet Bill at Rosario’s in the King William district.  A primary location for their operation was South Texas—open land, plenty of places to hide their enormous the base.

By the time I had completed the one mile trek to King William, I was drenched with sweat.

I took a table, on the side, and ordered a Negra Modelo. 

Within minutes, he appeared, and he seemed to know I would recognize him.  I motioned, and he joined me.  He blended well with the crowd of upscale Texans at Rosario’s, sporting a cowboy hat with jeans, brown Lucchese, a silver bolero style necklace with a turquoise stone in the center, and a snap-up cotton dress shirt.  He was tall, his dark brown eyes were hooded, giving compliment to his thin, sculpted nose, and his lightly tanned skin bore hints of a few childhood freckles. 

He introduced himself as Bill, and I asked him if he liked Negra Modelo beer, to which he responded, “My favorite.”  We looked like regular folks at the restaurant.

The waitress brought us chips and a bowl of that famously hot Texas-style salsa.  The chalupas were a dream come true, for a woman who had been out of Texas for far too long.  How often had I craved that particular blend of spices?  They had a calming effect on my frazzled nerves—after all, I had been born a few miles from here.

He began, “You will be transporting a package to the top of the Needle tomorrow.  When you return to your hotel room, you will see a delivery marked “books”--it will arrive via Federal Express.  In the package you find a dozen cylinder-like bars of rose quartz—each, 10 inches long and about an inch in diameter.  The package will also include instructions.  Your rendezvous will take place at 4:00 pm. 

He slid me an 11x14 manila envelope with cash, a 38 Smith and Wesson, and my new identity, Kaylee Moss, who had a sister in Minneapolis, named Cheryl.  I now had a completed file—old family photos for TBT on Facebook, medical and dental records, birth certificate, social security card, international passport.

“In a few months, we will be relocating you to the Boston area.  Get rid of your blonde hair—you want to go back to your natural color, a reddish brown.  And lose that Southern drawl—San Antonio is a good place to start, with its international population.  No cowboy hats or boots up there; and no yellow shorts with white sneakers--you will stick out like a sore thumb.” 

“Remember, where ever the Energy sends you, don’t appear to be too rich, or too poor—we don’t want to raise any suspicions; the Energy wants as little attention as possible. 

If you find yourself getting into trouble, simply move away from the flames.  There is always plenty of work to be done elsewhere.  We will be contacting you via text message.  Use disposable phones; contact the Energy each time you renew.”  

In the meantime, you are free to see the sights and do the things that a normal tourist would do.  I understand the Japanese Gardens here in San Antonio are really worth seeing.”

“Why did the elders choose me?”

“Why not?”  Bill responded.

“But this interrupted my life and the lives of James and my children,”

“You were open, Kaylie, and the elders knew that, too.  You questioned the meaning of your existence on a regular basis.”

“But my children are growing up in a community that thinks their mother has lost her mind and abandoned them.”

“There is a much bigger picture here other than your life and the lives of your children.  The elders know the ones to select.  They know who they can trust.  Your mission is for yourself and your children, but it is also for the future of humanity.”

“Besides, you are capable of carrying out the tasks the Energy requires.  They researched you and your family:  Your father was a sniper shooter for the FBI.  He taught you to defend yourself at a young age—and we believe you have his instincts.  You can not only use a gun, you are well equipped with your hands as well, due to the training he gave you in Judo.  You are mechanically smart and exceptionally focused.  You are fairly adept at basic electrical work and present above average technical/computer skills" 
"Women are not as easily detected as men—most people don’t expect to find a woman doing this type of work.  Additionally, your age is working in your favor.  You have enough maturity, and the outside world would be less likely to examine you closely.”

“But my father died protecting others,” I argued.  “I’m not sure I want to follow in his footsteps.  It was so stressful for my mother—and us.”

“We are all dying slowly every day.  Can you think of a better reason or way to go?”

“Did the elders cause my head to ache?”  I probed.

“Your headaches, you caused yourself.  It was your subconscious mind telling you to move on to your next mission in life.  Your have a strong paranormal gift of claircognizance.  You also smell danger, don’t you?  That’s your clairalience kicking in.  Clairentience is when you get a feeling about things.  You’re “gifted”; you’re a natural for this job.” 

“Contrary to popular belief, we are not in control of our lives, especially those who commune with the Aether.  We control some things—small choices, here and there, like what to have for dinner.  But in reality, the Energy controls us.  We are in the womb of life, and we are pushed from one mission to the next—like it was when we were thrust from our mother’s womb.  The pain in our lives is comparable to birth pangs—moving us to the next stage,” Bill reasoned.

I recalled Aristotle’s concept of the “Unmoved Mover” from my philosophy class at VSU—that which moves, without being moved.

“What is the Energy doing?” I asked.

“We are raising the vibration of the Earth,” he answered.

“Are there others lowering the vibration?”  I inquired.

Bill took a deep breath, “Yes, they are younger souls.  It is a constant battle to keep things in balance.  The younger souls are focused on “right now”.  They aren’t cognizant of the big picture, and they don’t want to be.  They don’t want to evolve.  To be frank, we don’t know if they are capable of growing up.  Sometimes they get stuck on an injury they had as a small child; it causes them to stop growing—both spiritually and emotionally.  So, they remain four-year-olds, forever.  And they don’t like us, or you—now.  I imagine we provoke guilt in them.  That’s why the world is in the state it is in.” 

“You may be captured, or even killed, if you let on that you are up to anything,” Bill explained.  “I became involved with one of them a few years back—I couldn’t even tell who she really was—at first. They are capable of draining energy from our genitals during the very act of copulation.  And, she tried to smother me while I was sleeping.  They may love us, but it is a weird, kind of lower vibration of love.” 

“It’s akin to the relationship dynamic that existed between Cain and Abel, in the Old Testament.  Cain loved Abel, but, he killed him, because he was so jealous of Abel’s relationship with god,” he went on.

“San Antonio is a training ground.  We are preparing you for bigger things.  Underneath the infrastructure of every metropolitan area in the world we have installed ports to receive the cylinders we provide.  Rose quartz absorbs negative energy at an incredible rate.  But, we didn’t want to deplete the earth of its supply, so we build a charging station near here, where we recharge the cylinders.  The charging station is in the Edwards Aquifer; we soak them in the water for six months before sending them back out.  If the population of an area is excessive, the cylinders must be replaced and recharged more often.  Hence, we are sending you to the Northeast.”

“James will send people to search for me, you know,” I said, changing the subject—unable to comprehend anymore of Bill’s ethereal bullshit.

“Look, we know you can handle that.  You’re strong.  If you have any problems, call us,” he said as he arose from the table and walked out the door into the smoldering South Texas heat.

I took Bill’s advice and paid a visit to the Japanese gardens.  He was correct: the Japanese Gardens in San Antonio were worth seeing.

SIX

One night in Georgia while Jimmy and I had been dining at Sotelo’s, Susan and I wound up sitting on the back stoop of the restaurant, drinking a beer, exchanging the details of our lives, and sharing a forbidden cigarette.  “Do you ever think there is another dimension to all of this?” I asked one evening.

“Yes, she responded, but I don’t have time to dwell on it,” and we both snickered. 

“Sometimes I see things out of the corner of my eye that I’m not sure are really there.  I feel like my house has an invisible other side just below the surface.  And there are people (or things—maybe ghosts, or spirits) watching every move I make.”

“When did this start?” Susan inquired, concerned.

“Do you remember a few years back when we were touring Ocmulgee National Monument?  I have been feeling especially peculiar since then.”

“Those mounds are truly a magical place, and I don’t doubt you in the least,” Susan responded.

         I had enjoyed that day so much and in so many ways.  The Native American mounds left clues as to how those before us lived, and it was just short of a miracle that they had survived earthquakes, hurricanes, and tornadoes.  Their round constructions had made this possible, coupled with the fact that they were partially under the earth.

The day we had made that visit, as Susan was in the welcoming mound, with all the tourist information, I had slipped off to a neighboring mound, which was more private—I had gotten bored with the tour. 

The mound was fairly dark, but by its very design, it let in enough light for me to see my steps.  I walked around the well-constructed base with awe.  It was then, that it happened.  As I looked up, I saw the roof open and liquid light poured into the room from an enormous cauldron that was being tipped over by a group of angelic looking beings.  The beings were of every color, but they all had longish hair, and they kinda’ reminded me of the Allman Brothers Band, after Jaimoe joined.

“Who are you?”  I asked.

“We are the elders.”

At that very moment a rope ladder was thrown down and the chief elder spoke, “Come up here.”

Clairvoyance.  Clairaudience.  A knowing.

We were interrupted by visitors as the tour guide was speaking, and the terrestrials disappeared, along with their warm liquid light, “This mound was a private residence, we think, most likely built for the chief.  It is not as large as some of the congregational mounds.  There is also a possibility that the elders met here to discuss the business of the tribe,” the tour-guide informed.

SEVEN

The text message summoned me from my slumber on my final night at Cal and Jennifer’s apartment in Somerville, “You will be receiving a package at your Cambridge P.O Box.”

Oh, god, for a moment there, I had entertained the idea that the past eighteen months had been a bad dream.  I pinched myself and looked around the room—I was definitely not in Kansas anymore.

I watched the weather update and planned to dress accordingly, while awaiting my turn for the shower.

Instead of taking the T into Cambridge, I opted to have a walking meditation down Mass. Ave.  I was so stressed, I just wanted lose myself in the Aether.  Almost instantly, I was ushered into the warmth of liquid light.  I glanced around at some of the oncoming pedestrians and saw underneath their masks to the extent that it frightened me, “Had I always been able to perceive these things?  Was I was becoming increasingly focused on the Energy?”

“Or, was I delusional and digressing into paranoia?”

 At the very second that thought entered my mind, I was pulled into an alley by a young woman, who had two accomplices, “We see your aura, and we don’t like you, as she threw a punch, clipping me with a right hook that landed on my chin area.”

I was stunned, but regained my balance quickly and brought my left foot up to her face.  Her accompaniments chimed in, hammering me with punches and kicks.  There was a small cut over my eye, which produced enough blood to impair my vision.  But, I fought back and felt my instincts take over my every move.  I was glad I had taken that kick-boxing class in Ipswich months earlier.  A police car pulled up, and, startled, the gang dispersed.  And so did I.

“I guess it’s not paranoia, if they really are out to get you—sometimes they really are,” I concluded.

As I continued my walk toward the grocer, a woman lying in a cardboard box, offered me a tissue, to soak up the blood streaming down my face.  I accepted, with thanks.

Upon my arrival at work, I explained to my co-workers that I had slipped on ice and fallen down the stairs at the Somerville station.  I assured them that I was fine, and I asked for a couple of aspirin.

I had crossed the line, in my own mind, and surrendered to the new “me”.  I had decided to accept my fate in life. 

Embraced it--in fact.

EIGHT

         When my plane touched down at the San Francisco International Airport, I had been reading White Teeth, Zadie Smith’s 2001 Novel.  I had stopped at this quote,  

Archie's marriage felt like buying a pair of shoes, taking them home and finding they don't fit. For the sake of appearances, he put up with them. And then, all of a sudden and after thirty years, the shoes picked themselves up and walked out of the house. She left. Thirty years.

It was such an incredible description of a relationship, I marveled, and I thought about it all the way to baggage claim.  I wondered if Archie’s metaphorical feet had blisters on them at the end of each day, or, if they were simply rubbed raw in places.  Had his toes been deformed, from thirty years of wearing shoes that didn’t fit?

As I stepped out of the airport, I hailed a cab that took me to the Red Victorian—a bohemian B&B in the Haight-Asbury District.  It was then that I first saw her—Colleen was just checking in—right in front of me. 

Two of the Selectees that had been assigned to the District, had been taken captive and they were being held on the other side of the Veil.  I had not been called there to intervene in this.  The Energy simply wanted me to fill-in for them and replace the rose quartz cylinders in the ports under the earth—an enormous undertaking for one person.  I would be in the District for a long weekend, and then I would move out to Cole Valley, the Mission District, and the Castro to meet other members of the team.

A package was waiting for me inside my room.  My mission was to climb down into twelve different manholes after dark, so that I would not be witnessed.  There were two ports within each.  I entered my room and flopped down on the bed with White Teeth, still worried about Archie’s poor feet.

Later that evening, as I descended the staircase to go to dinner, I saw Colleen again.  “Hi, would you like to join me for a bite to eat?”

“That sounds great.”

We stepped out of the B&B and took the 7 Muni bus to Axum Café, where they served Ethiopian spongy bread that covered the entire table, and we had the choices of raw or cooked meat.  There was an incredible tomato-mushroom dish that was ultra-spicy and a much milder cabbage-potato dish—all laid out on the spongy bread that obscured the tabletop—and along with these two combinations, we had chosen a cooked spicy lamb and chickpea entree.

 Over dinner we discussed the reasons for our being in San Francisco.  Colleen said she was a vegan fast food franchisor.  She was in The Haight to check out the possibility of kicking off a new location.  I told her that I was a consultant for Cisco doing work in the city and I had always wanted to stay at the Red Victorian.

Later, we played darts and enjoyed stout pints at Mad Dog in the Fog—a funky British pub.  We took a booth in the back of the pub.  She flashed me.  She was wearing a skirt short enough to barely cover her femininity--I slid my hand underneath and leaned in to kiss her.  It just felt so natural.

“Kaylie, breakfast is being served downstairs,” Colleen enticed as she leaned down to bite my nose.  “Come on, let’s go.”  I had ended up sleeping in her room, which meant I had missed dark hours of getting work done for the Energy.  “I will have to catch up tonight,” I woke up thinking.

When dusk was near, I slipped out of the Red Victorian with my backpack, loaded with crystal cylinders.  I came to the first manhole, lifted the lid, and climbed down.  The ports were straight ahead and I made the successful switch.  Then I was off to eleven more manholes. 

I was exhausted at 3:00 am, when I had switched out the two remaining cylinders.  I saw the Veil--CLEARLY, for the very first time.  I thought of the members of my team—Chenyu, and Aisutu-- that were being held behind it, and I wanted to cross it, even though Bill had given me strict instructions not to, “We are training a special squadron to go behind the Veil for the rescue.”

 “But why had I seen it?  Why was it visible to me if I was not meant to venture behind it?”  I reasoned.  
The Veil was made of sheer fabric that appeared to be silk.  It was dark in the manhole, but I believe it was deep purple in color.  There were two panels with a split, right in the middle.”

Stepping away from the only world I had known, I squared my toned shoulders and with a curiosity that could not be quenched without further examination, I took my first step into the Blackness behind the Veil.  In my mind, I knew that I would not fall through what seemed to be a slightly fluid ground.  I wondered how many other sensations I would encounter, that I had not known traversing the earth for all of the years of my life—this was a strange new world. 

NINE

          It took several minutes for my eyes to adjust, and when they did, I realized I was on a path.  I vaguely saw lights in the distance.  Making my way to the lighted area, I was astounded by the enormity of the castle in front of me. 
           It reminded me of the trip James and I had taken to Edinburgh, Scotland—we had brought the children.  We stayed at a Novotel, directly across the street from Edinburgh Castle, and when we woke up in the morning, the image of the castle engulfed our window—it was as if we could almost touch it--if only we could have opened our window and reached out our hands.

 Discreetly, I made my way to the castle, taking cover between tall blazing torches that led to its threshold.  It became unequivocal, that I should not make a grand entrance and knock on the front door—or attempt to open it.  So, instead, I went around to a side window and peered inside.  This is what I saw,

A crafted twenty-four foot walnut dining table, complete with

twenty six Queen Anne chairs.  Three crystal chandeliers hung

over the table. There appeared to be a hand-painted preserved

antique Gracie paper remnant, serving as a runner, down the entire

length of the table.  I recognized the wallpaper as being part of a

Waverly heritage pattern.  An oriental carpet embellished the 

wooden floor, and four antique sideboards adorned the dining room.  

English Pink China—both decorating the sideboards and serving as

table settings.  The table presented the best of silver place-settings.  

In addition to this, were silver serving dishes and water

pitchers, which were set in the center of the enormous table. 

The lady of the house assumed a beauty I had rarely

seen in all of my days.  Her very fair, peaches and cream

complexion appeared to be dusted with gold.  Her hair was a 
long and silky auburn—down to her waist, which was minute, in 
comparison with her generous bosom and hips.  She was seated
at the head of the table—surrounded by her cohorts.

And then I saw them. I knew them by their spirit—it was Aisutu and Chenyu.  They were serving the Lady and her guests.  They were dressed in black-and-white suits and wore cotton towels, placed over their arms, while carrying silver food platters to cater to the guests.  Their eyes were downcast, and when I took a closer look, I could see that their feet were shackled.  Aisutu looked right at me with a gaze that stated, “Get out of here and get help.  Help us.”

   I made my way around the Castle and discovered that there were guards at the majority of the entrances.  They were Day-of-the Dead characters, just as the Lady's cohorts had been.  The guards were adorned in festive clothing and carrying machine guns.  There were two at each of the six entrances.

   Retreating back to the opening of the Veil, it became clear how correct Bill had been warning me not to venture behind it.  I crawled up the steps to the manhole, and proceeded to the Red Victorian, where I became ensconced in my bed and White Teeth--all of my senses were on overload. And I was wondering what and how to tell the other members of my team--we were scheduled to meet within the next few days. 

At noon, I heard a knock on my door.  Colleen was back.

TEN

The Energy group convened at the Castro Theater during the morning hours.  There were sixteen members gathered.  Bill turned the meeting over to Renaldo, a transgender linguist who worked the area.  He was the person in charge of the squadron being primed to rescue Aisutu and Chenyu.

“We have brought together a group that is the toughest and the smartest.  Our plan is to charge the Veil all at once, when they least expect it,” began Renaldo.

I chimed in, “I saw the Veil.  And I went behind it.”  The room went into an uproar.

“Nobody has done that, and lived to tell about it,” Renaldo was awestruck, “I saw it once back in college at Stanford.  It was in my dorm room.  It was in the 60’s—and I can’t really remember it, or much of anything in those days—if you know what I mean.  What happened and where did you see it?”

“Well, first of all, I don’t think the Veil is ‘a location’.  So, I’m not sure how you can ‘plan’ to find it, much-less, charge it, with a completely inexperienced squadron.  The Veil exists within a state of mind.  I was in a usually relaxed, but exhausted, state when it was revealed to me.  I was down in a manhole, when I saw it, but I don’t think that has anything to do with it.  As a matter of fact, I have seen it before in my life.  Many years ago in my house—but then other places, too.  I eluded it, but it was always beckoning me” I explained, informing the group what I had seen the previous week.

“We will be fighting with Day-of-the-Dead characters—dressed in social attire, and carrying machine guns.”  Renaldo reasoned with the group.  As Kaylie has testified, we have to be of one mind, and we must reach a very relaxed state—not coming from a place of mental strength, but of weakness—or surrender.  That is the state I was in when I saw it, so I know she is telling the truth.  We must be strong and surrendered—all at the same time.  It is a paradox.”

Dara, one of the Energy’s Indonesian representatives queried, “The collective must become one?  I think this will be difficult, but I do see it as being a possibility.  We should exercise engaging our minds into this state—all of us, at the same time.”  Dara had a degree in Philosophy from Oxford.

“We should mix chrysanthemums, fennel, hollyhock, nasturtiums, and dill with a mortar and pestle--make a paste, and ingest it,” this should do the trick on helping us achieve one mind,” offered Okello—a doctor from Kenya.

Hideshimo, a Japanese biologist joined in, excited, “We could make the Veil appear right before our very eyes with this solution.”

“Kaylie, do you have any idea how many of these Day-of-the-Dead characters we are up against?”  It was Rombo—an ex-Master Sergeant from the Marine Corps.  He had joined the group following an honorable discharge after he claimed to see ‘spirits flying’ during battle in Iraq.

“It appeared to me that the folks attending the Lady’s party, and the guards, were all that were there.  That’s just at this one location behind the Veil.  There may be other locations, and, truthfully, there may be other bags of bones in the Castle,” I answered. 

Rombo continued, “How is it possible to kill beings that are already dead?”

“We must dissolve the bones,” said Thomas, a chemical weapons specialist with a degree from MIT.

“And what about the Lady, Kaylie, did she appear to be human?”  Inquired Rombo.

“She appeared to be human, but she looked like she was from another time.  Maybe she crosses the time filter.  And it could be that she cannot be killed.   It is possible that the Lady is behind the Veil, directing things through space and time.  Always and forever,” I guessed.

At that point, Renaldo took over the meeting, “Let’s break until next week—same time, same place.  In the meantime, I want Hideshimo and Okello to work together on developing a formula to help achieve this ‘oneness’ that Dara is describing, and I want Rombo and Thomas to put their heads together with regard to defense once we get in there.  And everyone else just get ready for battle—no drinking, eat right, exercise, get plenty of rest.”

ELEVEN

Two years earlier, Renaldo (at that time using the name Luis) was making his drive home from the office, marveling at the existence he had created for himself.   It had been twenty years since he graduated from Stanford with a PhD in linguistics.  
While in college, as an undergrad, he had played center-field position for the University’s baseball team—he was the first Latin man to make the team.  Additionally, he was a member of Sigma Chi Omega fraternity, once again, the first Latin.  He was a shoe-in for grad school having been such an active campus member, in addition to graduating summa cum laude.

 He and his wife, Meredith—a professor of economics, had a comfortable life in the San Simeon, north of Los Angeles.  Their home was a showplace, right on the beach, providing them an incredible view of the Pacific.  They owned pieces from the top artists in California—including Justin Bower and Jason Pearson.   And they were the envy of many of their colleagues--both of them making a daily commute into the City to teach at UCLA.  And in the evening they enjoyed the best restaurants and night life the City had to offer.  They had both worked very hard to achieve their goals and now they were reaping the benefits of their labor. 

The children were grown and gone, their son, a Hedge Fund owner, living in New York, and the daughter, a research librarian, at Florida State, in Pensacola, FL—married to an anesthesiologist.  Meredith greeted him at the door with a bottle of 2006 Clos Du Bois Briarcrest Cabernet Sauvignon—his favorite.           

Meredith was both beautiful and intelligent, and he had often wished he could wear her clothes.  She knew he had gender issues, but she was so fulfilled with her sex life, that it was not an issue.  And her family had been so generous, over the years, covering all of their living expenses when he was still working on his degree and before he was so famously published.  
They were also helpful with costs for several of Meredith cosmetic surgeries.

 “This ‘empty nest’ thing rocks, Meredith said, as he opened the bottle of wine.  She had just come from Lisa Norman, a renowned lingerie shop on Montana Ave. in Santa Monica, and she was wearing a floor length negligee—in fuchsia.

Dinner had been delivered—filet mignon, cooked rare, with assorted steamed vegetables.  It was dinner for four, as they were expecting guests from their partner-swapping club.  Both Meredith and Luis agreed on a much younger couple this week.  Jan and Peter, who were in their 30’s.  It couldn’t have been a more perfect night.  They drank wine and made love until sunrise.

As the sun rose the next morning, Luis went to the computer room to check his messages.  There were fifteen new messages, all with the subject line, “You have been selected.”

TWELVE

I returned to the Red Victorian, following the Energy group's initial meeting at the Castro Theater, where I hooked up with Colleen.  We decided to rent bicycles and have a picnic at Buena Vista Park.  We selected garlic hummus, organic carrots, celery, broccoli, pita chips, and Odwalla juice from a small grocery nearby.  We settled into the park on a throw from the B&B.

“Are you a lesbian?” I inquired of her.

“Yes, but I haven’t always been.  I think I’m situation-ally gay,” she snickered.

“That’s interesting, because I have never been with a woman before you.  That's why I asked you, because I'm not--or, at least, I wasn't.  It just felt so right, from the very beginning—from the moment I met you.”  I confessed.

“I actually started out being straight in life, but I had one thing after another would go wrong with my relationships with men, and I guess I made a decision to turn the corner—try something different, and it worked.  When I didn’t show enough interest, I was told I was too aloof.  When I did show interest, I was accused of being clingy.  If I had sex all the time, I was over-sexed, if I didn't, I was frigid.  One guy told me I was fat, so I went on a diet, and another guy told me I was too thin.  If I wasn’t experimental in bed—I was boring.  And if I was experimental, I was a slut.  I either couldn’t cook, or I was cooking so much he felt like I was his mother.  Because I had sex on a first date, he assumed I was promiscuous--but I was once dumped because I made a guy wait three months.  When I dressed up for a date, my man said I was too dressed--looked like a showpiece, but when I dressed down, another guy was embarrassed to be seen with me, because I looked like a hayseed. Anyway, after a while, I just gave up.  I have found that it is less pressure to be with women.  I have actually managed to have long-term relationships with women that are satisfying in every way.  I really love spending time with you, Kaylie.  It’s been nice.  That’s how life should be.”

“I agree.  This has been fun for me, too.”

We spent the afternoon riding bicycles, hiking the trails, and taking photos of San Francisco—there were such beautiful views from the hills in the park.  Dusk fell upon us as we made our way back to our place of lodging.

When I entered my room, I noticed the hand-written note from Aisutu.  She had reached across the Veil while I was away—apparently there had been an opening in my very room.  And this is what it said,

Kaylie, 

I wanted to let you that when you were outside the Castle the other night, you had crystal dust swirling around you.  It was not only surrounding you, it appeared to be part of you—flowing in and out of your body almost like a wind.  I checked all of the house cameras, and you were not visible on them.  That’s why you weren’t discovered—nobody can see you—well nobody who is not human, at least.  As far as I know, you are the only person in history this has happened to.  I have been with the Energy group for more than a decade, and I have read and studied quite a bit about the history of the Group.  Nobody has ever been behind the Veil and walked away like you did the other night.  Apparently, your spiritual vibration is so high, you are protected here.  Anyway, you need to let the others know about your gift.  It should prove to be very helpful in getting Chenyu and me out of here.  I trekked to the edge of the Castle grounds to get this message to you.  I am throwing it through the Veil and just know that wherever you are, it will reach you.  Hopefully, I will not sound the alarm when I approach the Veil or get caught going back.  My shackles allow me to venture this far.

Best,

Aisutu

I immediately texted Renaldo the information, so that he would know how to conduct the meeting of the Selectees the coming week.  I was sure that these new facts would change everything--but I wasn't sure how.

THIRTEEN

As planned, the meeting of the Energy Selectees was called to order by Renaldo.  He relayed the news that Aisutu had given me in her note. 

Dara spoke right up, “This calls for a change in our plans.  It is quite possible that if we go into a state of meditation, using the concoction Okello and Hideshimo came up with, in addition to being surrounded by Kaylie’s aura—which is likely a manifestation of the crystal dust, we might all be invisible behind the Veil.”

Hideshimo agreed, “Dara’s idea is completely logical, even in terms of biology.  If the dust is part of Kaylie, it is most likely in her blood, bones, organs, etc.  In addition to this, it will become part of everything or everyone who surrounds her, as long as the vibration of the others is congruent.”

“We all have issues and negative energies attached to us, but we must transcend these things and become one, in order to penetrate the Veil and save Chenyu and Aisutu,” Dara added.

The others in the room added their thoughts and feelings, “Thomas and I have come up with an idea of a chemical to dissolve the bones of the Day-of-the-Dead creatures.  It is hydrofluoric acid, which is the same substance Walter White used to dissolve bodies in the Netflix series, Breaking Bad.  It is a highly corrosive acid, capable of dissolving many materials, especially oxides.  It is almost always stored in plastic, so we decided to try plastic squirt guns, which, we found, worked incredibly well.  We bought enough water guns for each of us to have one, and they are loaded with the acid.  Each of us will be armed, in addition to being protected by Kaylie’s aura.  Remember, we must be careful not to get the acid on any of us—it will begin the dissolution process immediately, albeit, slowly.  It will have enough of an effect to slow the creatures down—possibly cripple them,” Rombo assured us all.

Only the core of that group would venture beyond the Veil--me, Dara, Okello, Rombo, Renaldo, Hideshimo, and Thomas--7 of us.  We were each given a gun by Rombo and Thomas.  Dara and Okello administered the herbal blend.  And Renaldo called us into meditation, "Let's get on with this," he said.

The group gathered around me--and we entered into the deep.  Within minutes, the Veil appeared.  And we all stepped inside--together.

FOURTEEN

               On the day that I left my home in Valdosta, GA, we had just returned from church.  I had been given a date and time.  My bag was packed and I had tried to say goodbye to everyone—as best I could without letting them know the truth, “James, if I should ever disappear, please don’t worry about me.”

               I took each of my three sons aside and told them how very much I loved them and that if we were ever apart, our hearts would always find a way to be together.

I had notified Susan and asked her for two favors—to send me a box of my things, which I had already prepared, as soon as I had an address, and to check in on the children and James and keep a journal of her findings.

“It’s time,” said the text message.  “The car is at the end of your block.”

I was wearing my gym clothes, and I left the house with my backpack, as I had often done to go get a workout at the local YMCA.  My dark blue hoodie obscured my face--the hood pulled all the way up.  I went to the end of the block, and stepped into a grey Ford Fusion.  A nameless and nondescript driver, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, was at the wheel.  He drove me to the Amtrak station in Jacksonville—less than an hour and a half away.  It just happened so fast, and before I knew it I was absorbed into the 1 million people in Greater Jacksonville—a mere needle in a haystack.

I then boarded the train and was on my way West, hooking up with the Sunset Limited in New Orleans, with my final destination being the San Antonio station downtown.  I checked into my hotel as Bill McGuire’s wife.  They didn’t ask any questions.

From week one, Susan had done exactly as I asked—she was checking in on my family and keeping a journal of the goings-on in my home, especially if anything was critical.  The following are her entries:

#1—First week.  Stevie (my youngest—8 years old) cried constantly.  The other two boys, Ben (13 years old) and Chris (18 years old) only cried occasionally—they were occupied with their studies and had  lots of homework to attend to.  James hired a private investigator, since the police came up with nothing about your disappearance.

#2—Second month.  Stevie had seemed really happy for the past six weeks.  He has dreams about liquid light that comes in through his window.  He is telling his brothers and father that everything is ok, not to worry about mommy.  Ben and Chris are very busy with their schoolwork and extra-curricular activities.  James is lonely and Layne is spending quite a bit of time with him, but I feel certain it is only a close friendship.  She is taking care of his social calendar.

#3—Sixth month.  Stevie is certain that he is surrounded by sparkly dust.  He said it is not only around him, it is in him—like part of him.  Stevie giggles a lot.  The other boys seem content, and they are doing well—both socially and in school.  James misses you.

#4—Ninth month.  Stevie insists that he speaks to you through this liquid light he keeps talking about.  He says you tell what to do and not do--and how much you love him.  He says that when he does something you don’t want him to do he has bad luck, but when he does something you do want him to do, he has good luck.  He is certain that you are with him all the time.  The liquid light is in the sky, according to Stevie.  Ben says the same thing is happening to him, but he’s not sure about the sparkly dust.  Chris is oblivious and busy.  Layne appears to have moved into the house.  She and James are sharing the master bedroom.

#5--Twelfth month.  James and Layne are telling members of the community that they have BOTH found the love of their life.  The children are confused, but they are all swimming in liquid light and sparkly dust--they are having fun.  Chris graduated from high school and took some time off to study for the MCAT, which he did well on.  He is applying to medical schools.  Chris is convinced that you are ok--he believes that when he is thinking about you, it's because you are thinking about him.

#6--Eighteenth month.  As it turns out, and I have been asking around, James and Layne have been hooked up for YEARS--before you left.

FIFTEEN

        We were halfway up the fluid-ish path to the castle, when gunfire rained down on us from the top of the fortress—and also from the guards below.  How had they seen us?  How were we detected?  Everyone in the group scattered.  Hideshimo and Thomas were killed instantly, and the guards closed in on me, Okello, and Dara.  With our water guns we dissolved five of them, but many more kept coming.  Behind me, I noticed Renaldo and Rombo taking cover under one of the torches.  They had not even spotted them.  Rombo motioned that they were going back to the Veil.  They needed back-ups. 

       Rombo retreated, and along the way he managed to scoop several handfuls of crystal dust.  He filled every pocket in both his pants and his topcoat.  Renaldo followed suit—he also filled his man purse.  They would need as much as possible for their return trip behind the Veil.

Dara, Okello, and I were taken to the drawing room and forced down on our knees by the Day-of-the-Dead dudes. 

         Seated on a golden throne, the Lady introduced herself as Queen Penelope.  “Welcome to Ersatz Castle.  You will address me as Queen Penelope, and you will bow each time you come in to my presence."  

        "I bet you are wondering how you were captured?  Well, your little friend Colleen works for me.  She tipped us off that you had arrived, Kaylie, so we were expecting you.”

       “Yes, we were aware of the fact that Aisutu communicated to you about your invisible-ness.  We knew about the note she sent to your room at the Red Victorian.  But, you are only invisible when our force-field is down.  When it is up, we cannot see you, but we do see crystal dust swirling—the guards knew to fire in your general direction.  And as soon as you were fired upon, your dust production was weakened—too much stress, I would imagine.  You are visible right now.  Aisutu has been punished for her deeds, but in reality she did us a favor by helping to lure you here,” the queen continued.

        “I have been looking forward to meeting you.  From now on, Kaylie, you will be producing crystal dust for me.  I need it for my skin--and also my psychic abilities.  I cannot produce my own.  There are so few people in the world who can.” 

         Designating duties, Penelope resumed, “Pedro and Juan, take Miss Kaylie to the cage.  And Jorge and Javier, take the others to the dungeon and introduce them to Chenyu; be sure to assign shackles for their feet.  Lunch will be served at noon.  Aisutu was punished pretty severely, and I’m sure she will be worthless for a few weeks—it’s such a heavy responsibility managing this estate.  Dara and Okello will have to fill in for her.  Tell Chenyu to begin training them—immediately.”

I was lead to the top floor up a winding marble staircase to a suite near the rear of the castle.  Although the room was extravagant, there were bars on the windows and even the door to the room was made of bars.  I had my own bathroom and the bedroom furnishings were more than comfortable.  As an extension to my bedroom, there was a full work-out room, a steam sauna, a dry sauna, with a hot tub on the balcony—also enclosed with bars.  Juan led me beyond the gym to a galley kitchen, which had everything for preparing healthy meals.  The cabinets and fridge were stocked.   The kitchen contained the appliances I would need—all in cranberry red.

       “Queen Penelope wants you to be comfortable, because she wants only quality dust.  Take care of yourself.  You will be taken care of as long as you are of use to her.” said Juan.

SIXTEEN

         Renaldo was having a conniption fit, "This can't be happening. Hideshimo and Thomas are dead.  This was not supposed to happen.  Tears were streaming down his face--leaving streaks in his make-up foundation and smudging his mascara.  Now there are five Selectees captured behind the Veil.  I need air.  I need help.  I need to notify Bill," and he passed out, landing on the floor of the Castro Theater.

         Rombo threw Renaldo over his shoulder and exited the Theater--loading him into the back of his Jeep Renegade.  He drove him directly to Ruby Skye, an oxygen bar on Mason Street just off Union Square.  He remembered that they had different flavors of oxygen there.

          Renaldo came to after several huffs of oxygen. "What happened?  How did I get here?  I remember, Thomas and Hideshimo are dead.  He began to cry again."

Rombo put his arm around him and kissed his face. "I'm sorry, my friend, I'm so sorry," he said.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Renaldo, I am going to kill them all, and get the Selectees back. 

"I found this plaque on the side of the torch support pillar near the opening to the Veil, and I ripped it off—there was a switch beside it.  Can you tell me what it says?” asked Rombo. 

              

說明：通過翻轉開關向上打開力場。

非人類可能有危險，如果力場被閒置，

並延長期限。

       

Renaldo studied the characters, which he determined to be some sort of Chinese Kanji.  “These are instructions about a force field, using it for extended periods of time is dangerous for non-humans.  The switch activates it,” he responded.

As they returned to the Castro Theater, Bill entered from a back room.  Rombo informed him about the dilemma of the dead and captured Selectees, and also about the force field.

Renaldo was practically worthless, as he could not stop wavering between crying jigs and staring into space.  Rombo, becoming increasingly impatient with him, said, "Now, you need to pull yourself together."

"But I have never seen anybody die before--it happened right before my eyes, and they were my friends.  I need time to process," responded Renaldo.

"It's those female hormones you are taking," Rombo barked.

"No, it's that I'm human," Renaldo defended himself.  "You are just desensitized, because you have seen too much death."

"Well you can't just wallow in it.  If I wallowed in it, I would never get out of bed in the morning.  I let my grief become anger, and I use the anger--to get something done about it.  I am going to kill the fuckers," Rombo stated in a heated and somewhat loud voice.

Bill interrupted an exchange between the two of them that was just about to become an all-out brawl, "You are both correct," he said.  "It is important to grieve, but we also must put a logical plan into place in order to solve the problem.  We don't want to be defined by the deaths of our comrades, we want to be identified by our success at saving the rest of them.  We must overcome this, somehow.  And, I want Queen Penelope to know that she does not control the Universe.  I have heard rumors of her for years.  She is a ruthless freak--a real conniver.  She manipulates everyone around her.  She uses her physical beauty to do whatever she wants.  So, the three of us will come up with a counter-attack and go behind the Veil to rescue our friends.  Having a strategy will actually serve as a distraction from some of the pain of the loss."

Rombo forced his opinion, at this point, "We've already lost too many members of our team. and I cannot agree that we should go in together.  I am the only person here who has had combat training, and besides, what is Renaldo going to do once he gets behind the Veil--cry and pass out?  I will go alone.  But first, let's take a trip to Walmart and pick up several machine gun type water guns.  I will load them--and go alone.  I'll be better off without the distraction of you two.  Their force field will be down, because they won't be expecting me.  Renaldo, I need your man purse and all the crystal dust you gathered."

SEVENTEEN

Okello bandaged up poor Aisutu's wounds using tap water, strips of his T-shirt, and a bit of Silver Patron tequila that Chenyu had swiped from the kitchen.

Meanwhile, I was in shock in my luxury suite, also known as the cage.  Queen Penelope rattled the bars to my door with her golden walking stick, "Where is my dust?  You have been here for a week and produced next to nothing.  Get busy, or I will have you tortured in the dungeon."

"But, it doesn't work that way.  I cannot make crystal dust appear without endorphins in my brain, which have all been pretty much wiped out during the past week."

"You are becoming a problem," said the queen.  "I will give you one more chance.  I brought you some vitamin B complex with extra B12--that should help with your serotonin levels.  Now, do your job."

EIGHTEEN

We were shielding ourselves from what we thought was the cold, in a phonebooth--actually, making out-- at Spring and 14th, in Atlanta, when I realized I loved him--waiting for a MARTA bus to take us to our destination in Buckhead.  He was from central Florida, and I was from western North Carolina--our different accents turned each other on.  His hardness was more than I could bear, as he kissed my neck--and as I slid my skirt up.  He unzipped his pants and thrust himself inside me--I pressed my pelvis toward him.  As he penetrated me, to both of our pleasures--we exploded, together.  The scent of him drove me out of my mind, "James . . . you are all I ever need, or want."

The fantasy was a place for my mind to go as I was strapped face-down and naked on the metal table in the dungeon, as Queen Penelope was overseeing her cohorts beat me with a whip.

When Rombo exploded into the room, I thought I was dreaming . . . again.  He dissolved all of the Day-of-the-Dead creatures with hydroflouric acid blasting from the machine guns he held in both hands.  As the guns expired, he pulled others out of his pack.  The Queen fled into a secret room in the castle.

"Let's blow this joint," Rombo said as he cut my cuffs off and handed me my clothes.

Okello stepped in with a few more homemade bandages and half carried me as we made our way out of the castle and toward the Veil opening.

Oddly, as soon as we were on the other side, all of my injuries were instantly healed.  It was as if the event had not even taken place.  Aisutu experienced the same phenomenon with her wounds.

NINETEEN

Journal entry from Susan in Georgia:

#7---Two years.  The children were worried about you for awhile.  They felt you were in trouble, or dead--or worse.  They spent hours attempting to reach you in the Aether one day.  They say everything is ok now.

TWENTY

Following our ordeal behind the Veil, Bill decided it was time to call together a convention of Selectees from all over the U.S.  The gathering would be a camping retreat in Mesa Verde, CO, which was not only a place of history, nature and beauty--it would inspire a deeper connection between the Selectees.  The tranquil atmosphere would serve to nurture their bond with the earth as well. 

In a large gathering outdoors near the KOA, Bill began by thanking everyone for their attendance, "I only wish everyone could have come, but the accommodation would be next to impossible, " he continued, as he explained to everyone about our encounter with Queen Penelope and her small army. 

 "Please feel free to break up into small groups with Renaldo's unit for details.  And try to just relax and enjoy this place.  Love is in the earth.  The modern world is so complicated, we tend to forget that at times.  It is so easy to become unfocused on what we were called to accomplish.  I am not here to tell you what to do.  You know what to do, or the Elders wouldn't have Selected you.  But, I will tell you what I plan to do while I am here.  I am going to take my clothes off before god and nature.  And I'm not talking about my physical clothing, but the superficial stuff that I carry around just to be able to survive in this world.  I am going to get my soul free."

And, so did we.  

The Mesa Verde Dwellings are well preserved archeological sites once inhabited by the Pueblans for about 600 years before they migrated to New Mexico and Arizona.  They were mystical in the same way that I recalled the Native American mounds to be, back in Georgia years before.  And one night as I wondered off to the Spruce Tree House alone, the sky opened up once again, and I saw the large golden cauldron with liquid light being poured out of it.  A rope ladder was thrown down before me, as had happened previously back in Georgia--years before.  I climbed the rope ladder and entered into what appeared to be a very large living room.  There were bean-bag chairs scattered about and people of every nationality and gender sitting around talking, in groups.  

The chief Elder spoke to me, "Have a seat, Kaylie.  I'm sure you have alot of questions in your head.  I would like to answer some of them, but first have a smoke with us."  He handed me a peace-pipe.

After a few moments, he continued, "The world is in a bad way right now.  Evil is on the brink of overcoming good.  In times like these, we must begin to recruit members who would not naturally join.  You were one of those people.  Additionally, your marriage to James was a complete farce.  You were simply too naive to see it at the time.  We didn't want you to have your heart broken, so we pulled you out of a situation that would not have been good for you.  And we needed the manpower.  Now you know that you are not spiritually 'normal'--whatever that means.  Queen Penelope would not be interested in you if you were.  You joined us out of your own free will, and I think that deep down, you knew it was time for a life change.  By the time we get the balance of the Universe back to normal, you will have changed also.  And you never know where life will take you.  In the meantime, we appreciate the light that you have shed on the activity behind the Veil.  You have brought clarity to all of us.  Do you have any questions I have not already addressed?"

"Since mine and Aisutu's wounds were instantly healed when we crossed the Veil, doesn't it follow that Thomas and Hideshimo might be alive once we bring their bodies back?"  I wondered aloud.

"We are not sure about that, and we have never thought about it, but we can certainly look into it.  In the meantime, don't let fear get a hold of your soul, but you should be aware that the Queen may set traps for you in the future.  We don't know what she is capable of, and your crystal dust is valuable to her."

I spent the evening with the Elders probing their minds, smoking the peace-pipe, drinking pineapple juice and munching on organic popcorn drizzled with extra-virgin olive oil and sprinkled with sea salt.   

TWENTY-ONE

Meanwhile, behind the Veil, Queen Penelope paced the floor of the castle drawing room.  She was down to a skeleton crew--both literally and as a figure of speech.  And she'd been thwarted.

BOOK II

TWENTY-TWO

On an evening in June in Salem my cat, Agnes demanded that I recognized her--I was her's, and she, not mine, as I would like to think--with a butt from her head and a loud meow.  I had taken a day to myself, sorting issues from days or yore, examining  my past with a needle-in-the-haystack attitude, searching my soul for anything in my life that might have caused me to be in my current situation--working for the Energy was not a task I would put on my worst enemy--at times, anyway.  Then again, the excitement of it did seem to thrill me.  It was as unpredictable as New England weather, and there were just as many extremes in the new realm I was exploring.

Earlier in the day, I had gulped my eggs benedict at the Ugly Mug diner, sloshing it down with a second cup of coffee that I was certain I would later regret.  I knew that if I ever saw Thomas and Hideshimo again---it would be here.  In Salem.  For I felt they were still alive, but Windows 8 was keeping me away from them, and my laptop needed a serious upgrade.  And just as the thought came into being, across my computer screen, came the following, when Windows 8 decided to change its face and switch screens--as it always does, enticing me to buy a tablet:

You're right, we are still alive--Thomas and Hideshimo.

"What?"

"We have been trying to contact you through the Aether, but Windows 8 makes it so difficult--even from here.  Get it uninstalled and go back to 7."

The following day, I made a trip to Best Buy--had them replace my keyboard and downgrade my laptop to Windows 7--then I waited, staring at my computer screen, for a message from Thomas and Hideshimo.

While sipping Chianti that night the dispatch was finally released:

"We did die, Kaylie.  But when we did, we landed in a pile of your Crystal dust.  It coated our skin and mingled with our blood.  Our open wounds allowed it inside our bodies.  We both awoke laying in the Queen's dungeon, with rats nibbling on us.  We cannot move yet, but we are becoming stronger by the moment.  Apparently, your dust is a path to immortality, although I feel certain the magic only happens on this side of the Veil.  I'm sure that's why the Queen is so interested in it, however."

"Oh my, what should I do?  I implored."

"I don't think you need to do anything, as we will most likely be able to escape by ourselves, once we get a little stronger--it's only a matter of time."

And two days later, they did just that.  On the news I saw that the lid had been blown off a manhole in downtown Salem.  Officials said a transformer had blown, but I knew what it really was. In the blink of an eye, Thomas and Hideshimo were standing in the threshold of my studio apartment on North Street.

TWENTY THREE

Aisutu had become determined to visit with her old friends and family in Birmingham, England in order to recharge her emotional batteries.  "This is not to be confused with the US counterpart, Birmingham, AL—it’s pronounced Birming’um”, she explained to Bill in a text before leaving the states.
Traveling internationally, Aisutu had always heard, “Don’t go to Birmingham,” which she found odd, since she had been raised there.  “It must be propaganda spread by Londoners,” she’d often thought.  For she had always had a love affair with her hometown of Birming’um.  And unlike others, did not feel it was just a place to pass through while on one’s way to another destination, or a place where one should pull the blinds when one’s train is crossing, as Queen Victoria had always done.  In Aisutu’s mind Birming’um would always feel like home.  So what if it’s known for mostly curry and canals?  They would always be the most beautiful canals and the best curry--in her mind.
Although her mother was from Guinea, Africa, she had been raised in Birmingham’s tiny Chinatown with her father’s Vietnamese family, who owned the only restaurant that made Nom Nom noodles and Pho in the neighborhood.  Aisustu had two brothers and one sister.  The three of them still worked in the restaurant, which was directly downstairs from the three bed room flat they had all grown up in.  Aisutu and her siblings began working there as soon as they were old enough to carry on conversation in the three predominant languages of the neighborhood and cart food trays.
She had been the one the family sent to America to go attend university.  Her marks in school were well above average and Aisutu had applied to several small campuses where she felt she would get the attention she needed--being in a different country and away from her friends and family.  She chose University of Indiana South Bend.  And she lived on campus.
With her restaurant experience she had been able to land a waitress position at a local Steak ‘n Shake—on the night shift--so that she could attend classes during the day.  In her senior year, as she was cashing out her purse at the end of the night the cash register became jammed.  She banged on the side of it and the drawer opened and closed several times, while saying, “Thank you, come back soon.  Thank you, come back soon.  Thank you, come back soon.  Oh, and by the way, you’ve been selected.  You’ve been selected.  You’ve been selected.  Call this number:  888-868-1313.  Have a nice day.”--the cash register was actually speaking to her.  But she was the only one there to witness it, since she had been left to close the restaurant alone.  And then the phone number was repeated at least ten times--enough for her to memorize it.
It had been ten years since her first meeting with Bill.  They had gotten together on her very first trip to Chicago.  The Energy group had chosen her as a Selectee because of her command of so many and such a diverse assortment of languages.  But they also knew that she was tough, having grown up in a rough neighborhood; she was well-acquainted with street-fighting, although she was small in stature. She acquiesced to joining the Energy because it sounded so exciting, and also because they offered to pay off her student loans.  But mostly, as with all of the Selectees, she knew it was for a good purpose.
While visiting Birmingham, she paid a visit with one of her ex-lovers.  She had known him since her teenage years and he was her first love--actually, it was mutual.  Tage was so happy to see her.  He smiled from his cheeks as his eyes began to tear, and he embraced her.
"The city centre has changed drastically, since you've been away.  Come, let's walk.  You'll have to see for yourself.  There's been a downtown revival, as a gentrification has taken place.  There are still many dodgy areas in Chinatown, but it's improving too."
They walked by the new library.  And they later strolled down New Street to do some shopping--eggs, bread, wine, etc.--all-the-while catching up on the years that they had been apart.
"I have a terrace nearby, if you would like to stay with me.  I also have two tickets to the Birmingham Symphony for tomorrow night.  They're not the best seats, but they are adequate.  And the acoustics in the symphony hall are fabulous."
They settled in to Tage's terrace, and he cooked for the two of them.  White fish, salad, baguettes with butter and sauvignon blanc.  Aisutu had freshened up in the shower and put on one of Tage's t-shirts, which swallowed her.  She was standing at the sink washing dishes after dinner, and heard him say, "Turn around, my dear."  Suddenly he was on his knees with his tongue plunged into her soft public hair and probed the folds of her wetness.  "It's been far too long my love . . ."  Aisutu began to tremble as they both collapsed on the floor.
Her body was enveloped in his love as the sun rose and shined through the enormous sky window that he had installed himself in his 500 square meter apartment with an enclosed porch bedroom. One good thing about living in Birmingham was the real estate real--it was so reasonable compared to London rates.  "Why have you never married, Tege?"
"I was married to a Chinese woman.  We had a child, but it did not work out.  She's a good woman, and mother.  They live about two kilometers from here.  We just could not live together.  What about you?"
"I have dated several men, but my work keeps me so busy, and I think I just naturally have a hard time committing.  I work for Champion LLC in Shelby, NC--it's a manufacturing business--they make decorations and such for the Christmas season.  I organized shows during the holidays in New York City." Aisutu lied--it was all part of the identity Bill had assigned her when she joined the Energy.
Tege continued, "I never left our hometown--although I have traveled a bit.  I've never been to America--mostly Europe and once to Beijing.  I still see many of the same faces we grew up with and have the same conversations.  I did not go to university, but apprenticed to become a woodworker instead.  I make replicas of antiques, mostly, but I also design my own pieces.  It's a good living."
He stroked her milk chocolate skin and softly touched her tiny breasts, making circles with his fingers around her large upturned nipples, which were fully erect.  They sat in the nude for hours speaking of old times and also of recent relationships.  In her life, she had never had a lover who genuinely seemed to enjoy caressing the small muffin top belly on her otherwise strong physique.
 Aisutu had so missed the British accent--but mostly she missed his particular voice.
Two weeks passed all too quickly, and Aisutu knew it was time to get back to San Francisco.
"I will miss you, Aisutu," Tege said as he told her goodbye at the Birmingham airport."  He could not control the tears that made a steady trickle down his face. "You have been a good friend to me," he said as he bid her a final farewell, then watched her shuffle slowly through the security checkpoint line in her leopard skin pillbox hat.  He envied her stoicism, in contrast to his wearing-his-feelings-on-his-shirtsleeve demeanor.
They both concurred that chapter of their lives would never be over.

When Aisutu arrived at her apartment in the Haight, there was a certified letter that her housemate had signed for:  two packages labelled "books" were awaiting her pick-up at the local post office.

TWENTY FOUR
Queen Penelope decided that her response to and recovery from her enemy's actions would be twofold:
1)   She immediately ordered all of the Day-of-the-Dead creatures to begin procreating right away, so that she could replenish her staff.  The offspring would reach full maturity within just a few months.  They were to commence breeding, but only in the missionary position, with the females on bottom, legs no further apart than absolutely necessary--and merely enduring the boners of their mates.
2)  She called an international teleconference with all the young souls on Earth.  The meeting was conducted by way of videoconferencing--from her golden throne at Ersatz Castle.  The Queen appeared as elegant as ever in her floor-length ivory lace-over chartreuse taffeta a-line gown, with her freshly henna'd auburn locks pulled up into a bubble-bun, full face of glamorously applied cosmetics, and flawlessly manicured hands.  She spoke with a distinct authority that commanded the utmost respect from her followers who were gathered together in groups at hotel conference rooms, or simply watching solo from a device or PC.  During the videoconferencing, she promised her followers a monthly weekend retreat to her many castles at various points around the underworld--unlimited Corona beer and empanadas for all.  And if they killed a Selectee, they were given a life-long membership card to visit whenever they wanted--all they had to do was wave it in front of the Veil entrance.
Younger souls had been strategically placed in all positions within society and in every culture throughout the world.  When they witnessed someone doing good, they automatically interfered.  And whenever a good person was vulnerable, they were trained to attack, etc.
But it was very clear that they now needed to become more aggressive than ever.  If she could mastermind enough cruelty in the world it would eventually instill fear in everyone, including the Selectees.  Her goal was to cause a worldwide terror paralysis, since fearful individuals are so much more easily led.  She wanted international chaos: more wars, more torture, more violence, more greed, more hate crimes and beheadings--more general brutality among the people of earth . . . less kindness and understanding--and no love, or peace.
She wanted the Selectees captured--all of them.  And she wanted to do away with them, once and for all, except Kaylie--whom she would enslave--forever, because that would assure her own immortality, beauty, and power.  If she could stir up enough trouble, this shouldn't be too difficult.  Besides, all the peace and quiet was downright boring.  Her goal was deadly mayham on the earth.  She did not want to the responsibility of controlling the earth.  And she wasn't interested in exploiting its material wealth.  In fact, if someone turned over all of the power of managing the world--put her in a position to be the world leader, she would reject the opportunity. She was simply bored and wanted to create havoc.  And she hated Kaylie, to boot.  She didn't want to kill her, because like The Joker said in the film, THE DARK NIGHT, ' . . . I won't kill you, because you're just too much fun.'  Queen Penelope found it disturbing to see happy people; she wasn't sure why.  And in her mind, it was all a game . . . one that she was currently losing.

TWENTY FIVE
"I have always had a female adversary," I confessed to Hideshimo and Thomas as we were sitting on my studio floor playing a game Chinese checkers and drinking ice cold lemonade.

"As Hideshimo and I have bore witness, you definitely have one now," responded Thomas.

The two of them had decided to stay for a few days, and they had been sleeping on inflatable

mattresses sprawled out on my floor.  It should have felt quite crowded, but it simply felt cozy and I

was so delighted to have the company!

"All my life I have run from situations where I was being antagonized by another woman. But, I have never had anything quite this extreme happen to me.  Life is a circle, or at least that's the way it seems to be for me.  Once, when I was a child, as often, my older sister was on top of me beating me in the face; we where in the barn at the ranch we lived on.  'I really do love you.  I'm doing this to prepare you for the next one,' she said.  Just like that.  It was just like that.  I must have been three years old.  It remains one of my most clear and earliest memories from my childhood.  I don't think that was the first time she attacked me, but it is the first one I remember.  She had made me swear not to tell; everyone thought I had fallen again, since I  had a lazy eye and always had problems with depth perception."

"And since then, I have had situations--one after another --of females harming me attempting to harm me in one way or another.  I have made it a pattern to leave situations like that whenever possible, but it is pretty obvious, that I cannot get out of this deal with the Energy and Queen Penelope.  I would have to relocate to another galaxie."

I took a shot of Jack Black and continued my story, "I was born with really long black eyelashes.  I was the second girl and my older sister was three when I was born.  Everyone harped on my long black eyelashes, or at least that was what I was later told, when I grew up.  Apparently, all my sister saw were my eyelashes, and she hated them--and me for having them.  I had taken attention away from her in a way that she thought was extremely painful; she saw me as an enemy.  I think to this day, her blood pressure goes up when she sees me."

"So your only role in any of these situations, is the fact that you exist," concluded Thomas.

Just then there was a knock at my door.  I opened it to find Aisutu.  "Hi, it's so good to see you."  And I embraced her.

"My flight had a layover at Logan and I decided to postpone it for a couple of days so I could hang out with you," she said.

"That's great, it's much more fun to play Chinese checkers with four people," I responded.

After I had had pretty much gotten my ass kicked playing checkers, it was about 8:00pm and I decided to go for a run to the Salem Willows.  I started out jogging, then worked up to a run, and then I began to sprint--when the ocean was in sight.  My thighs were stinging and my buttocks ached.  But suddenly I felt my feet leave the ground below me.  And I saw what looked to be a title wave, or a wall of liquid light coming right at me.  I heard angelic voices chanting.  The tone was like this, and I’m not sure about soprano, much less second soprano, and I don’t think either of the two was reached, within my limited knowledge of music.   But you can follow the tone with 1 being the lowest note and 7 being the highest note:  1 aaaoooh 5mmmmm 5mmmmm 3mmmmmm 3mmmmmm 2mmmmm (repeat twice), then, 1 aaaoohhh 5mmmm 6 mmmmm 7mmmmm 8mmmmmm 9 mmmmmmm 10mmmmmmmmmmmmmm.  There was no rope ladder this time as the energy in the area was so intense I was lifted into the living room with all the beanbag chairs. 

The chief elder was speaking, "Kaylie, we are terrestrial angels, Benevolence is our leader.  She is a celestial angel, or an ascended Master (or in her case, Mistress).  She wants to see you.  And at that very moment a single rope was thrown down from a higher plane.  It was a good thing I had been doing an upper body workout at the Salem YMCA, because I had to pull myself up to the next level, where all I could see was a woman who glowed with light so bright, I couldn't make out any of her features.

"My name is Benevolence, but you can call me Bev," she said.

TWENTY SIX

"In a past incarnation, I was human.  But I focused on opening my crown chakkra and reached the Energy.  The Energy is only love and light, but even darkness is good, because it's part of creation.  Everything and everyone is connected, as you have seen in your own mystical experiences.  How did the TV talk to you?  Well, there is an essential unity of the spiritual and material components of the universe," Bev explained, while naked Cherubim of every color, size, and gender flew in circles around her and her beanbag chair.  

She continued, "It's so easy for humans to understand that good is good, but it is much difficult to understand that bad is also good.  Good and bad are part of the Energy.  The monster grief brings forth its opposite.  And without bad, we would not recognize good.  Just as without suffering, we would not know ecstasy.  Should you then strive to be bad, you might ask?  No, absolutely not.  You should strive to be your best.  And, even what one may perceive as darkness "evil" or "bad" is in someway working to achieve good and toward the ascension of everyone.  Everything is connected--I am you and you are me.  That's why the golden rule in judaism states, 'Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself.'  This is so true, since when you do unto others, you are actually doing unto yourself--if we're all truly connected."

"If our mission, in the human state, is to evolve, then god sends us trials to workout the good.  Our fears must be dealt with.  Actually, we must face our fears.  I think you humans have an author by the name of C.S. Lewis.  He said something to the effect of, 'We're not afraid because we're suffering; we're suffering because we are afraid.'  In other words, reaching bliss consciousness  (or total connectedness with love and coupled with complete absence of fear and suffering).  Evil is sent into ours lives in order to make us focus on the Energy.  It is all part of the river of life leading our souls to the eternal salvation from fear.  All of the earthy sins find their inception in fear.  Take greed for example--the root of greed is fear of not having enough.  Slothfullness--comes from being so full of self-doubt, that one is paralyzed by fear.  Envy comes from the fear that someone else has more than you, however, if we look within, we are all capable of reaching paradise.  And so on."

The naked Cherubim of every color, size, and gender must have known she was finished speaking, because they suddenly began clapping their hands as they broke into song.   A curtain lifted behind them were I saw the 5th Dimension singing--the entire band was there, and they all looked exactly like they do in their Wikipedia page (a photo from 1969):

When the moon is in the seventh house
And Jupiter aligns with Mars
And peace will guide the planets
And love will steer the stars
This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius
Age of Aquarius

Aquarius, Aquarius

Harmony and understanding, sympathy and trust abounding
No more false hoods or derisions, golden living dreams of visions
Mystic crystal revelations, and the mind's true liberations

Aquarius, Aquarius

When the moon is in the seventh house
And Jupiter aligns with Mars
And peace will guide the planets
And love will steer the stars
This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius
Age of Aquarius

Aquarius, Aquarius
Aquarius, Aquarius

Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in
The sunshine in
Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in
The sunshine in
Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in
The sunshine in
Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in
The sunshine in

Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in
The sunshine in
Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in
The sunshine in
Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in
The sunshine in
Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in
The sunshine in

Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in
The sunshine in
Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in
The sunshine in
Let the sunshine, let the sunshine in
The sunshine in
Let the sunshine

TWENTY SEVEN

Renaldo continued to grapple with the anxiety related to death, even after he was informed that Thomas and Hideshimo had risen from their tomb via the manholes in Salem.  For him, witnessing their supposed deaths, brought up feelings and worries he had never before considered, like--when would he die, how long would it take, and how much would it hurt?  Redaldo called Dara--the philosopher of the group.  Dara intellectualized the issues of anxiety surrounding the concept of death by going off on a rant about Soren Kirkegaard, but in the end his tirade paid off, because it opened Renaldo's eyes to new ideas:

In the same way that Soren Kierkegaard addressed cultural politics and the tumultuous social changes in his day, his urgency to bring reform in the church was also evident in his writings.  He held that being a Christian did not suggest a regurgitation of religious dogma or following the guidelines of a Christian culture.  He coined the term “Christendom” in his work Attack upon Christendom to express his accusation that the church had become bedmates with the kingdom.  A passionate faith, Kierkegaard insisted, is what one should aspire to; this is the true meaning of being a Christian.

To Kierkegaard, the church was caught in the trappings of what he referred to as the aesthete: intellectual momentary gratification with no integrity.  Being a person of faith was too easily attainable.  Christians of his day turned over the responsibility for their soul to the institution of the church.  Because of this, they lacked a personal relationship with God; faith had become a mere habit that they practiced on Sundays.  In essence, Christendom was a stumbling block.  Kierkegaard believed that true faith involved suffering; it also involved allowing oneself to be vulnerable.

Rather that practicing a set of objective social rules, Kierkegaard held that Christian faith should be passionate and subjective.  This type of faith is beyond the limits of the rational mind, which was the domain that the church of his day was ensconced in.  True faith is a paradox that is illogical and cannot be defined in terms of straight lines or rules in books--it is an intangible substance.  Faith comes by choice, and it is only through faith that one overcomes the “angst” that Kierkegaard speaks of in his work The Concept of Anxiety.  This choice is not a one-time choosing; it is a choosing that is ongoing and consistent.   And it requires stepping into the unknown.

I agree that religion had become too intellectualized in the day of Kierkegaard.  One cannot become faithful by memorizing a set of rules or being diligent about “Sunday-go-to-meeting”.  As the prime mover in Existentialism, Kierkegaard marked the plumb line for Christians to return to truth in an individual relationship with God.  He brought Christian faith back to being a matter of the soul, which is the domain that religion should reside in.  It is in the individual’s taking responsibly for the soul, that faith is increased.  In this increase, one grows in God and discovers the True Self.  Without this, one passes through life never having examined the inner workings.  And in the words of Socrates, “The unexamined life is not worth living.”

Faith involves vulnerability and suffering at a soul level.  Within vulnerability, suffering is allowed to enter, which, given the correct choices, causes the individual to grow.  One must choose faith as an act of the will, and it is a passionate choice.  It is much easier to remain closed and regurgitate religious rhetoric than to go about the business of vulnerability and suffering—and growth.  The human essence consists of body, mind, and spirit (or soul).  The concept of “no pain, no gain” does not apply to simply getting a physical workout or studying for a chemistry final.  Pain is applicable to the soul as well—and suffering is good for the soul.  Those who are the most vulnerable are also the most valuable.  The very word “Christian” implies that one is a follower of Christ—Christ, who remained open and vulnerable throughout his life.  And he passed “from death to eternal life”.

The problem with simply becoming a member of the local church and attending religious services on Sunday, is that in “playing church” it does not follow that one will grow. To discover the True Self, or increase the individual god that exists within each of us, one must be open to a god connection that is a microcosm of the macrocosm—God.  Ontologically, I am speaking of a holistic monism. Howerver, Kierkegaard did believe in the person of God and not an abstract being . . . .

TO BE CONTINUED—Support characters being developed and their back-stories coming soon—I hope.